


The Hawk's Thrall

by alluthebird (legarevirtuoso)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Gen, How Do I Tag, Modern Girl in Thedas, Necessary evil is still evil, Non-Sexual Slavery, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prostitution, Self-Insert, Slavery, Stream of Consciousness, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2015-03-04
Packaged: 2018-03-08 08:15:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 34,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3202088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/legarevirtuoso/pseuds/alluthebird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Also called 'Hookers and Fenris: the Only Things I Can Reliably Find in Kirkwall; A Memoir by Allu of House Hawke'.</p><p>When a woman goes for a walk and finds herself in an alternate world she only barely paid attention to when it was just a story, the best plan is to make it up as one goes along. Along the way she discovers that Kirkwall is only three doors down from her own personal hell, and the easiest way to survive is to not even bother. The best lie is the truth, and the thrall of House Hawke lies enough for all of them.</p><p>Compiled from the letters by Alaudidae 'Allu' Passerina to the Champion of Kirkwall and her Companions by Varric Tethras.</p><p>*DISCONTINUED AND WILL BE REWRITTEN AS PART OF A NEW PROJECT*<br/>Thank you all for all of your lovely reviews and kudos!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. To Varric (The First Letter)

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know why I'm writing this. Originally I was challenged to write a self-insert for Naruto, and that made me hurt myself laughing. In the wake of many hours of Dragon Age: Inquisition and the subsequent realization that one should probably actually play the first bits of the series seriously before attempting that behemoth of a game, I went back and bought Dragon Age II and borrowed Dragon Age: Origins. This is what happens when I go to work the next day and have nothing better to do while I wait for calls.
> 
> This is written as a thought experiment and an abject lesson in why you should never try new writing styles randomly. Update schedule of at least once a week.
> 
> Dear anonymous darling: STOP POSING ME THEORETICAL QUESTIONS ON HOW WELL I WOULD DEAL. I would not deal well. At all. AT ALL.

Hell was other people and the twisted stupidity that each one brought to the proverbial table. This was no different, a tangled mass of random pieces that comprised one agonizing whole. Let me rephrase this in a way that makes better sense to people who are not me: I am in Hell. Hell, for those of us who are not aware of what that is, is like the Fade on hatred. It’s where people go when they have been terrible so that their soul’s suffering can pay for their sins. I know this is Hell because it makes almost zero sense and smells like a sewer in July. For those of you who have never experienced that delight, a sewer in July smells like human waste, trash, a tinge of smoke, and enough self-loathing to write a novel. I’ve been covered in mud since I got here and want nothing so badly as to stop now, put up my feet, and just die on the spot. Sadly it is remarkably hard to do that when one has been laced into a corset and set free into the wilds. Yes, actual wilds of the world with trees and wildlife and things out to eat my face. When I said my RenFaire garb could stand up to the apocalypse once, I was actually kidding. I did not actually want to test this. Most of my cloths are covered in mud and blood, and the only thing keeping me from falling over was the heavy duty boning of said corset and the looming threat of ‘run now or die’.

 

Funny story how I got here, really, across reality and my sanity. It’s so funny that when I tell it to Varric he goes cross-eyed and requires at least three pints of solid dwarven ale to make it through. Hilarious, truly. Woman walks into the woods and through the awesome majesty of blood magic fueled by, of all things, her menstrual cycle ended up in the Wilds being chased by Darkspawn. The capitals are for emphasis. There’s a symbolic sort of thing about this whole situation that Varric is still trying to figure out and I’ve flat out given up on. Something something something about the magic of motherhood and bringing new life into the world. This is pure bullshit, but it makes for a nice story. Here’s what happened from my end, the honest to gospel truth as it were. This version differs from what the Hawkes claim and is ten times more entertaining than Aveline’s version. Varric’s version is not something we discuss in polite society, not after he used the phrase ‘heaving busom’ more than five times.

 

_Once upon a time on the other side of the Fade, there lived a woman and her dog in a tiny little house. The woman had a normal life, worked during the days as an arbiter of sorts for a school. She was well read and highly educated, a total basket case that spoke like a sailor and dressed like an overly flamboyant man. Once a year she would set aside her life for a great costume party that celebrated the culture of old for an entire two days. This year was like the last, full of primping and fussing and much lacing and general frippery. Her carriage was small and white, but it took her to the party with no issues and little to no adventure along the way. She frolicked and drank, dance and practiced her best guttersnipe lingo, and generally had herself a grand time. When evening tapered down into closing time, she made her way back to the lot her carriage was in. As she stumbled her way back, the woods grew thicker and wilder until she could not see the way back.  The further she walked, the foggier it became and the more discordant voices she could hear off in the distance. The fog was tinted red, rolling like a scarlet carpet of grass around her boots and swirling around her skirts._

 

I’ve told this story so many times I have it down to a fine tuned art, embellishing details for each person I tell it to. The Hawkes only need the story told up until this point, and so it that is the version that will be passed down through history. In truth, mine was a world with very little magic and an awful lot of technology, a festering mess of politics and war that makes very little sense to most of Thedas’ populace. Sanitizing and parsing down the saga of my life in a way that Thedas’ people can understand is too much of a pain in my ass, and thus I shall leave it to you. Thedas makes so very little sense to me (and yes I realize that most of the Wicked Grace band of companions have tried to tell me their cultures more than once), and after the sixth person who tried I’ve flat out given up on it ever making sense.

 

Please, feel free to try.

 

There are dragons here. Actual factual fire-breathing flying lizards with hoarding tendencies and a distressing predilection for human flesh. They have teeth like swords and claws like scythes, and they fly around the wild parts of your world like this isn’t an actual problem to you lot. Honestly, this would not be so terrible if the existence of dragons had not been part of my crash-course in ‘Life in Thedas’, and nor would it have been so terrible if my first words to anything living in this world hadn’t been ‘I want to be you when I grow up’ to said dragon. The dragon’s name was Flemeth and after she had oh so neatly squished the thing I had been fleeing (later, Marian would so kindly explain to me what a hurlock was and why Allu Smash was a good idea), she turned into an old lady. Varric, have you ever seen something so monumentally stupendous that all you can think is ‘oh, so this is what it feels like to lose your damn mind’? Because that was my life. My mouth to God’s ear, this is a thing that happened and it was _glorious_. Really, she had horns made out of her own hair and the most fabulous wardrobe this side of Orlais I had ever seen. And yes, I know, I can make Orlesians look like peasants when I go through their closets. And she, Flemeth the Dragon Lady and My Personal Goddess, thought I was hilarious. Bit like a baby owl. Well, she called me a little owlet and told me to hush my flattery, so I’m counting that as she thinks I’m adorable. I am deeply content with Flemeth finding me adorable.

 

It’s usually at this point in the story that Varric points out the distracting nature of my bosom, followed swiftly by an ode to the majesty of my ‘heaving bosom’ after I move anywhere for any kind of extended time. I usually disavow knowledge of his person at this point. It’s all fluff, Varric, and there is nothing wrong with my plumage either. I’m only telling this story so that one day someone else can figure out the reasons and methods behind this, so that someone some day can understand why someone like me could have followed the Champion of Fereldan. I leave it to you Varric. Don’t fuck this up, and I expect you to rewrite half of it and make me a warrior goddess of the northern peoples or something else bitchin’ awesome.

 

No one expects the Thedas Inquisition, except me. I came here expecting it. And it is very high on the list of things I am not made to deal with.

 

I came upon the Hawkes as they ran from the now ruined remains of Lothering, fleeing from the horde even as they swarmed. Anywhere but here, where death came from monsters straight out of my nightmares. I will freely admit I hid behind a corpse as they fought the Darkspawn, waited to emerge when the trifecta of well-armed women had killed everything. And then there was a dragon and excuse me I’m a bit fuzzy on the details of that. Flemeth on the wing, burning the damned as she goes, is a terrifying sight to see and all I could do for the longest was react. There wasn’t really much time to chat, not with Flemeth and her rapid cremation skills getting agitated. The Sisters Hawke, Aveline, Leandra… they didn’t ask for much on the way to the harbor. Just a stream of ‘keep moving’ and ‘just a bit more’, ‘there you go’ and ‘just one more hill’. We don’t talk much about what happened on the way to safety, a pack of women racing through the Wilds. But those two weeks in that ship’s hold had to be filled with something. So I learned about Carver, about Ser Wesley, about how to cook a tart, how to best gather herbs, Aveline and Marian’s favorite combat tricks, and how Bethany hated Templars.

 

When we docked at Kirkwall I was so ill I could barely see straight, too much bad water after far too much exercise. Too many people crammed into a ship not designed to hold them with not enough ventilation or sustenance to see them through. I stuck with Leandra, let her fuss as I limped along in what I now realize were terribly impractical heeled boots. Allu, that was what I told them my name was in this terrible place, was very much not suited for this business of walking all over creation and told them so after I threw up in the harbor. No I hadn’t bothered to tell anyone the mysterious circumstances of my arrival in Thedas, as I was still trying to piece it together at the time. This was Kirkwall, in Thedas, and I have been surviving on barrelled water and ship’s hard tack. Fresh air and solid ground were doing me a world of good, enough for me to thankfully maintain my equilibrium when the deserters attacked. You won’t get the joke, but everything changed when the deserters attacked. Pain and panic when a blade parted the skin on my cheek and I reacted extremely poorly. And by poorly I mean that I may or may not have punch him in the soft and squishy underside of his chin before tackling him to the ground and bashing his head against the ground until someone else tried to hit me. One thing led to another, and I can honestly say that all common sense went right the hell out the window.

 

Bethany asked me once what I thought of when I fought that made me so angry, and I’ve never had the courage to tell her the truth. She asked me why I helped then and not before, why I had no weapons but still tried my best to use my body to shield Leandra. I didn’t have an answer for any of her questions that would make sense to anyone, not anything worth repeating. I did what I could because it was the right thing to do, and I’m just pissed off enough to make it work. Honestly, I broke my fingers trying to punch a man in a breast plate, and when all was said and done I spent a moment puking my guts out in a corner while Leandra patted my hair and Aveline told me I had done well. No one had actually _died_ at my hands, but by disabling them I had left them wide open for any of the other three women to finish the job. Yay enabling. But Leandra was safe and sound, and that was all that really mattered. I don’t know why it was so important to me to take care of her, but I used a clean corner of my sleeve to wipe the tiny flecks of blood from my face to keep Leandra from seeing it all. This was a bit harder to do that it sounded as I had to use my left hand.

 

Leandra made an unhappy sort of sound and I stopped, aware all of a sudden at how this all looked. “You… you saved me. In Fereldan. All of you did. It’s late but.. thank you. I’ll just… go and-” Leandra grabbed at my unbroken hand and stared me right in the eye with that no nonsense look all mother have on her face. “You will do no such thing. Where would you go? At least stay with us until we get into Kirkwall.” Marian smiled at me, (all of her wry smirks aside, her eyes will always tell you what she really meant by her cutting wit) and I was lost. “Bit punchy, but you’ve got potential. We can fix that. Come on then, let’s get you somewhere Bethany can take a look at that hand.” You don’t say no to Marian Hawke. She has this way with sarcasm that makes you feel like a two inch tall idiot, and right at that moment I felt like ten kinds of moron for trying to hide my broken hand in my sleeve.

 

We must have looked terribly strange, four women huddled against a wall and each other for companionship and warmth. Healing magic is something like sweet relief and a breath of fresh air all at once, but my bones had to be popped back into place and held before Bethany could even begin. “I’m not very good at this. At the least, I can get them to heal faster. Now hold still.” Leandra held my other hand and stroked my hair while Bethany healed me. It was nice and awful at the same time as that niggling little bit of my conscience tried to make me stop taking advantage of a grieving widow.  My hand tingled and ached, but it was an immense relief to be able to flex my hand and know that no irreparable damage had been done in my haste. “Thank you. It’s much better already.” She smiled and I unfolded myself from my distinctly unladylike sprawl on the ground. “You’re welcome… Little Bird.” Marian and Bethany will never let that moment with the dragon go, not after I had been forced to explain on the ship why I had thought it so funny.

 

Alaudidae M. Passerina, commonly called a monotonous lark, was what I had taken my name of choice in this world from. Thus, the Lark had thrown in her lot with the Hawkes and the bird jokes would _never stop_ for as long as I stayed around. I didn’t really want to leave, terrible as that sounded. Leandra had been right: where else would I _go_? Back to the Wilds near Lothering that swarmed with Darkspawn? To Fereldan, where I knew no one and had almost zero chance of survival with the Blight (surprise Varric, I do actually keep up with current events)? No, I’d rather take my chances with these ladies. I sighed then, much as I was able with this terrible contraption of mine on, and a placed a hand in the small of my back. One could get used to wearing a corset awfully quickly if circumstances demanded it, and I had tried my best to keep from being dead weight because of it. But two weeks straight in the same muddy and bloody clothing? I had to smell terrifying at this point. Well, to be fair, we all looked and felt about as tired as the refugees we were.

 

“If you don’t mind. What was a noble lady like you even doing near Lothering? I didn’t see you at Ostagar.” Oh Aveline, you always picked the worst times to ask the important questions. In practice it’s generally faster to let people draw their own conclusions, but this was ridiculous. There was no one here in this corner but us, and for that I am still grateful. “I’m not a lady. Not… not in the way of blood and birth. Just by character and by choice. I… well I didn’t actually intend on ending up in Lothering or remotely near Ostagar. I wasn’t… oh sweet merciful tits on toast how is this my life? _Heilige Scheisse und verdammten Schweinen!_ ” Deep breaths do not work well in corsets, and the agony in my ribs flared up enough for me to damn propriety and social courtesies as I clamped my hands to my sides. “I’m not a whore either, if that’s what you were asking. I’m just a very lost bird who has no idea what’s going on.”

 

“ I meant no disrespect to your honor-”

 

“Aveline. It’s fine. I’ve told you all next to nothing about me. Speculate away. Make sure you say something about how I’m a princess in disguise. Or ooh, maybe a prince. From up north. A barbarian princess.”

 

“In Lothering?”

 

“Barbarian. They’re never very bright.”

 

The very best lies are the ones painted with all the shades of the truth. And oh my friends how I lied to you, after such trust and understanding. I was afraid and alone, and I truly thought I had found myself in a never ending delusion. Apostates, dragons, and darkspawn, oh my! Where I come from, pain in a nightmare was generally enough to wake one up. There had been enough pain over the last two weeks that I had cried myself to sleep between Marian and Bethany. Can you even sleep in the Fade? I don’t know, and someone should really ask Merrill for me, but the madness of all this did eventually take its toll.

 

I winced and stepped back from everyone. My sass has no place here, not with the Hawkes and definitely with Aveline. Without these women, without Carver’s sacrifice, I would be dead. In my old home they called this survivor’s guilt. For a very long time it was the only way I could cope with the whole thing: by parsing it down to one mental trauma at a time. Here in Thedas I was as good as dead. So I compartmentalized out of self defense. As long as I took care of Marian Hawke, all would be well. Her happiness was my happiness. Her life was my life. The trick to survival was to shrink everything down into easy to comprehend chunks and live freely in the moment. My father would be ashamed of me, the descendant of slaves who willingly walked back into servitude and ruined all the freedoms we had gained. But I had nothing useful to my name and a whole pile of things done for me on the way to Kirkwall. I owed them but had no real way to pay them back. For Carver, for saving my life, for everything. “I don’t… I don’t know how to pay you back for everything you have done for me.”

 

I am not ashamed to admit that I cried in front of the Hawkes and Aveline, there in that desolute corner of Kirkwall. This was reality now, and my fortunes would wax and wane with theirs. But it was Marian, clever Hawke, who gave me an answer to my dilemma. “Stop. You don’t owe us for being decent people.” Oh Marian, dearest Hawke, that really didn’t make it any better. “We would have saved you regardless. Besides, it isn’t like you have any coin. Intending on paying me back with your body?” Oh father forgive me, Mother I’m sorry, but yes. I will not survive Thedas on my own. The best lies are those told with the truth, and I was just a touch desperate. I sank down on my knee, head bowed as the tears stopped and the idea took firm root in my mind before spiralling its branches out. “Yes. For as long as it takes, yes.” A medieval place like this likes oaths and promises paid in blood, and I will do anything necessary to survive it.

 

“My name is Alaudidae Mirafra Passerina, called Alluade, secondborn Juttasdottir of the Northmen. I am the ash on the wind, my boen is my sword and my blood is herein sworn. The flesh of my flesh, the blood of my mother and the wisdom of my father are herein sworn.” Marian started then, hand out to stop me even as Leandra pressed her hand to her mouth in a soft ‘oh’. “All that I am, was, and could be are herein sworn. I am your unfaltering weapon of destruction, and I am herein pledged.” Aveline had given me a knife to cut hardtack on the boat, and I pulled it free from its place in my corset laces with a graceless fumble. Grand gestures, the old stories are always full of them and you can’t even lie to me about it Varric, made for the best unbreakable bonds. Go big or go home, and clearly I’m not going home. “I offer myself in my entirety, freely and without coercion, as you see fit for my services. Until my last breath leaves me and the blood dries in my corpse, I am herein sworn to House Hawke.” When intending lasting physical damage to oneself it’s best to not think about it. Surprise, carving into the flesh between one’s breasts is a distinctly unpleasant experience. Three quick lines, a Fehu rune in reverse, and my knuckles turned white even as the blood dripped down my fingers.

 

“And thus for my honor, and the honor of my family, I am your thrall until my weregild debt has been paid.” Varric always made my pledge much more dramatic than it really was (yes, it was plenty dramatic in truth), quick and dirty with more words in ten minutes than I had ever uttered in their prescence. I like his version better, it makes me sound like less of a child gone desperate and more like some sort of barbarian lady who knew what she was doing. “So I have a servant now? I’m moving up in the world already.” But her hands were gentle as she took the dagger from my shaking fingers, pressed a bandage to my chest and let a touch of potion go to work. “You’re really dramatic when you start talking. Any other tendencies we need to know about?” The thing to remember with Marian Hawke is that her bark is just as sharp as her bite, but her loyalty is faultless. And she can’t stand being serious, especially when it makes her into something she’s not. “Ye… sort of? More like a sworn body. Just until weregild is paid, mind. Then I expect real wages for putting up with you, Hawke.”

 

Aveline squeezed one shoulder with her gauntleted hand, cold metal meant in warm comfort. Sometimes I think that if I couldn’t grow up into Flemeth, Aveline would be a much more realistic goal to strive for. “Well meant and bravely done; your parents would be proud.” Aveline understood honor and obligation better than anyone else, but I couldn’t even bring myself to smile up at her in thanks.

 

My father and mother would not be proud of me, permanently scarring myself with the mark of old that meant ‘cattle’ at best and slave at its worst. In that moment I had disowned anything that I had ever been. But I would survive, and survival was more important than family I might not ever see again.

 

Sleeping against walls will never be my cup of tea. It’s doable, yes, but so is brain surgery in the dark. Just because you can does not really mean you should. By the time three days had passed, my body was one giant ball of pain and soreness, a rumble of gnawing hunger and general misery. Gamlen Amell was a welcome relief from the monotony, for his arrival bore with it the hope of finally making it into the actual confines of Kirkwall. And then he opened his mouth, and all goodwill I ever had towards him died a terrible death. He was, in a singular word, a snake. This was being disrespectful to actual reptiles, but I am sworn to the Hawkes. Insulting their uncle (even within in the confines of my mind and on paper, while true, is still being despicably rude) would not be an auspicious start to servitude. Of which it seemed my sole job was keeping Leandra company in her grief. This was a task that was woefully easy to accomplish: let myself be babied and talk about Carver more than any human being should even want to.

 

I tuned out the world when Leandra finger-combed and braided my now limp curly-top mohawk. Marian thought this was hilarious and actively pushed to include this in Leandra and my daily routine. It kept my hair out of my eyes, so who was I to complain. Gamlen showed up as Leandra finished, and I had no excuse not to be mentally present for introductions. Self-introductions have never been my thing, so I tend to keep it short and sweet. Awkward little wave and smile with a quick “Allu, thrall of House Hawke,” and we’re good. But there was a problem with my usual logic, namely with the use of the word ‘thrall’. Gamlen Amell was the sort of man who focused on intrinsic monetary value, and Kirkwall was just close enough to a center of slave trade to make that word mean potential funding if he played his cards right. “A slave, dear niece?”

 

“No. She’s my sworn-sword. From the Anderfels. Bit of a mouth on her.” Good. It’s always best to establish boundaries early into the relationship lest one be trampled in the madness. Yes Varric, I am fully aware that baring one’s teeth at other people is not what ladies or civilized people do. Surprise, I only act like a barbarian to unsettle people. It worked remarkably well on Gamlen. So close to Kirkwall and two primary contracts courtesy of the snake to make it happen. We either pick mercenaries or smugglers, and there’s an unholy light in Marian’s eyes when she hears the word ‘smugglers’. Said smugglers don’t brook in slaves, and I almost cried when Marian took us straight there with not a single detour. She had that face I had quickly learned meant ‘we will be having words’ when I introduced myself, and her swift selection of the smugglers was a beautiful hint. Marian introduced me for me and that was all the clues I needed to know that I had messed up, and that was that.

 

Marian Hawke does not do well with bullshit. A contract or a deal to her was litera, and reneging on a deal seemed to be her anathema. Kind of great for me, as it meant my pledge to her was valid for as long as the conditions remained. Kind of terrible for the guy who forgot to pay his dues, as it meant a visit from Marian Hawke and her Companions. Aveline had rather swiftly put a dagger to the shopkeep scum’s eye, and a twitch of movement had me baring my teeth at his guards even as I wiggled my fingers at them in a mockery of a wave while I did my best impersonation of an angry attack owl. Again, this barbarian thing is super effective when done correctly. It’s kind of my favorite thing. All four of us made the quiet decision not to say a word about the distinct scent of urine as that scum ran off to the smuggler who would be getting us all into Kirkwall. We left it to Gamlen to make the arrangements from there, but we were clear. I may have sniffled a little bit, I may not have, I can neither confirm nor deny the allegations placed against me at this time.

 

We trudged into Kirkwall proper at a speedy march, like if we took too long the guards would change their minds. Leandra had a death grip on my hand, as if she let go then she would lose me. At that point I realized that my face and mannerisms had firmly placed me in the realm of child to be protected by the Hawkes. Carver had been Leandra’s baby and I was more than happy to be her grieving mechanism, odd and unhealthy as it was. It had been a stressful time for all of us, and we made our way to Gamlen’s home in near silence. Sightseeing could come later; it wasn’t as if Kirkwall was going anywhere. Dinner was nice, a watery ale and shepherd’s pie made with a stringy meat I refuse to identify. But it was warm and filling and that was all that mattered. Aveline stayed with us that night, Leandra insisted. I helped Bethany and Marian ready for bed, learning how to strip and clean their armor. Or I would have learned their armor if Marian hadn’t pointed at me and told me no. “You aren’t our slave. Fereldans don’t have slaves.” She was careful when she said that, as if trying not to walk on broken glass.

 

“I am perfectly aware of that. I never said I was your slave. My father would have my head for that.” Bethany frowned from her perch on the edge of the bed, passed Marian a sidelong glance like what I had said made absolutely no sense. “You said you were our thrall. That’s a slave, isn’t it?” They had made sure Aveline and Leandra kept Gamlen busy for this conversation, and I appreciated it. I would have sighed if this corset gave me enough space to breathe. Instead I blew out a slow stream of air as I tried to find better words for this that would make sense to this ass backward culture I found myself in. “Jarls are served by karls, karls are served by thralls. If one owes a life debt to a karl, one must become a thrall to fulfill it. As best as I can translate at least. Deutsch ist sehr Spass. Oder interessant. Entweder oder.” Marian frowned with the thought as Bethany gestured me to stand in front of her so she could work on the grimy laces of my corset. “What were you? Before you became our thrall?” Bethany was quiet as she untangled, both Hawkes trying so hard to process this logic. “I… I was me. I’m still me, just… thrall. Allu Allu ist , nichts geändert. I don’t understand the question?”

 

Bethany sighed and stuck her hand out to her sister, wiggled her fingers until Marian placed a dagger in her palm. I held my breath as Bethany sliced through the now disgusting cord bit by bit. Playing the foreigner card is a terrible way to get out of making things make sense, but it worked for the moment. Marian tugged at the tail of my mohawk to get my attention back to her. “Were you a… what did you call it. Yarl or a Carl? Before your were ours.” Well shit. Compared to this? I lived like a queen. The nicest parts of Kirkwall will always look like absolute trash compared to the life I had before. Technological advancements will do that for you. Even the fabric of my RenFaire garb was leagues above the highest quality, and I had an entire wardrobe where I could change clothes every day and not wear the same thing twice in a fortnight. “Does it matter? Will it make the world of now any different? No. I owe you my life, and I intend to pay up. My parents did not raise a welcher.” The sound I made when my corset came off for the first time in a little over two weeks was something I will never be able to either live down or duplicate. Yes Varric, dearest dwarf mine, when Marian says that something was as good as popping Allu’s laces, this is what she was talking about. Think of it like a full body relief, orgasmic after so long with so much pressure let loose all at once and you can’t help but express it even as you fall 0ver. I sank to the floor like a puddle of mush as Bethany held up the offending garment and rapped her knuckles against the panels with a grin. “Sturdy and fancy. You could stop a dagger with this!”

 

I waved my arm from the floor, my other arm pressed up against my ribs to relieve the ache as I took a series of deep and panting breaths. “I’m not testing it. You can’t make me. But you probably could.” Marian laughed as Bethany wrinkled her nose at me. “Armor should not be confusable with your undergarments. How do you even breathe in this?” My back popped something wonderful as I sat up and grinned. “But I look hella fantastic in it. As I lose air. Because the point of a corset is _not_ to be able to breathe.” Marian took my corset from bethany and dropped it on the ‘armor to be cleaned later’ pile. Great. I was going to be running around Thedas in a corset for the rest of my life and wasn’t that a joyful thought. Well, at least my tits would look fantastic.

 

“Bethany, move over. Bed’s big enough for three.” When Hawkes get tired, they tend to get really grumpy and bossy. “Allu, in the bed.” It took a bit of coordinated flopping and wiggling from the three of us to get comfortable. I ended up the little spoon at the edge of the bed, Marian’s nose in my hair and her arm holding the curve of my now sore waist. This is a terrible place to end up when sleeping near Hawke. If you value your life at all, never let Marian Hawke start to snuggle you. You will not escape the cuddles. She’s like a jungle snake, all wiry muscle that tightens more when you struggle. If you ever find yourself sleeping with Marian Hawke, the trick is to night fight said cuddles as they are inevitable. Don’t misunderstand. I find sleeping with Marian to be the most restful time of my life. It’s always safe and warm, like all the world’s problems just melt away. I hadn’t slept so well since I had left my fiance years before I had even arrived in Thedas.

 

Surprised Varric? I’m writing this for you, just in case I’m gone when the world goes tits up and I can’t drop hints to keep you from doing something irrevocably stupid, and it wouldn’t be fair if you didn’t know the whys to this story’s whats. You asked so many questions and held your tongue on so many others, accepted my roundabout answers for the avoidance that they were. I can’t bear to see you look at me like I’m crazy, not  you of all people. So I’ll answer as many questions as I can before my part of the story ends. Know that I love you (not like that, you’re like the slightly shorter brother I never had, and if I did love you like that you would have known it by now) and the telling of this tale will be hard on you. So know that I am truly sorry for all the lies, and it is your choice what you do with this manuscript from here. Just... if you have any love for me left when this is done, keep this away from Fenris. He doesn’t deserve that.

 

My name is not Alaudidae M. Passerina. Where I come from, that’s the scientific name for a monotonous lark (family, genus, and species). There’s a reason Fenris smiles when anyone says my full name as it were. It’s apparently Tevinter for the same, go figure. But no one in their right mind would name their child that, as it would be like naming their child after a particular vintage of common wine. That is stupid and my parent would not do that to their children. My name is Elisabeth, not that anyone actually used my name aside from my mother. Most people called me Lis as my first name is nigh impossible to pronounce for some people where I come from. It’s a bit like someone with a Dalish name finding a Tevinter community where everyone is used to pronouncing that name in Fereldan. You would have a nickname too if you were me. When I was little I used to sing a song in my home’s version of Orlesian a ridiculously large amount, and so I was called Alouette, Allu for short. The scientific name is just my way of being fancy. Alluade, Allu, Lark, they’re all just pen names. Something to hide behind.

 

You have to understand what I’ve lost in order to help all of you. Everything I had stolen from me and everything I will never get back. Everyone has lost so much that I’ve never wanted to complain, but this is my dying will of sorts. If I survive, you’ll never see this so it’s not like this will hurt anyone. This is my memory, all that I will be to this world. I want… I want you all to know that I never meant any of this to happen. But there’s a chance to get it back, and you need to know why I did this. Why I betrayed Hawke. Why I betrayed my own heart.

 

Thedas is not my world. My world is called Earth (yes, terribly unimaginative but I didn’t name it that) and lies on the other side of the Fade. It was as beautiful as it was ruined by the people who lived there, but it was mine. Earth is where my family are: my father, mother, and sister. I had friends and lovers, enemies and those I had forgotten. On Earth, I was a writer and a scholar, a teacher and a scribe. I had a decent life, if horrendously boring when compared to Thedas. Our technology would make the Qunari cry, and we had no magic. This is why I called the Qunari simple and primitive that one time you got me a little too into my cups. We had no Darkspawn, no dragons, no monsters in the wilds save for ourselves. Quanari, Dalish, dwarves… we were a world full of humans and animals. The fact that I did not break down into tears and instead just stared at you when we first met was a testament to my first mind-numbing year in Thedas.

 

You’ve all lost so much, but none of you have ever lost everything like I have. Every little thing about Thedas is wrong to me. You all exist in a story of sorts, an interactive story that I never bothered to pay much attention to. I love the story that came before and after Hawke’s more, and I will freely admit I mainly paid attention to Hawke’s story for only two characters. It’s odd to call you all characters, as if you were nothing but ink and ideas when I’ve bled and broken bread with each of you. But this is about honesty, so I must admit things that are embarrassing and painful for you to be able to understand. I only played Hawke’s story, Dragon Age, for Varric Tethras and Fenris. I’m a terrible fangirl, because I’m writing this letter for a person I am a total fan of. I’m terrible.

 

Do you understand now?

 

This isn’t real. I’ve lost my mind and I’m apologizing to a figment of my insanity.

 

So why does my heart hurt so much when I think about it?

 

You have to stop me Varric. You’re always the smart one. Put that beautiful brain of yours to use and find a way for me to stop before I betray everyone. If you can’t, don’t let them see my fail. There isn’t a way back home that cannot be paid for with nothing, but I have to at least try. Please don’t let me hurt them. Not him, not Hawke. And please, don’t fight me Varric. I’ll either destroy you or you’ll have to put a bolt in my eye.

 

I always hurt the things I love. I’ve never said it, because love is supposed to be expressed by word and deed. I always thought I did well enough.

 

I’m sorry, but I have to try to go home.

 

You would try too, wouldn’t you?


	2. To Varric (The Second and Third Letters)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly late. Life has kind of bit me in the bum lately. Namely, I got fired last Friday so kind of set me back a bit for transcribing. No worries, I've got like, 40 pages of this left to transcribe. And from here on in it's going to get really weird, fair warning.

Where I come from, the idea of being stuck in another world is a common ideological process. When people write about it like they’re the ones who it happened to, we called it a ‘self-insert’. Usually a fanfiction. Which… are works of fiction derived off of a more widespread published work. Isabella’s stories based off of yours are fanfiction. But for the most part we considered self-insert fanfiction to be a terrible travesty of wish-fulfillment. For the most part, there was even a formula. The person in question dies, wakes up in the fictional world of their dreams, becomes best friends with the main characters, and on some occasions the person becomes a bad ass with almost no effort on their part. It was even considered an entire genre of escaping from the painful reality we lived in, a few gems sprinkled in the fields of proverbial manure to make it worthwhile, but with no consequences and the prettiest boy or girl as their significant other.  The genre was a guilty pleasure for some and a delusional dream for others, but the overall reliability of that formula could not be denied. A plus B equated to C, unless the writer could not decide and had an entire arc for their dream love triangles. Tried and true, one could always become a ninja or a fighter,, an unstoppable mage or whatever else you dreamed of.

 

Varric, I’m living a bad fanfiction. You don’t understand how awful that is to wake up and acknowledge every day, but there you have it. There were actual problems with this, wherein I broke the formula into itty bitty bits.

 

Problem one: I am most definitely not dead and this is my original body. Problem two: I am a fully grown woman who only happens to look like a child thanks to really good genetics and a youthful looking mother. Problem three: I am pretty sure the natural laws of physics in this world have been tossed on their ass. Problem four: I may or may not know the future, and it is hilariously spotty and unreliable. Problem five: I do not know if this is an alternate reality or if I have managed to fall through space and time. Someone should get me a map at some point, it would help.

 

I’ve had awhile to think on this. That’s what happens when you leave me by myself to go traipse about the world. You’d better have brought me back a nice souvenir. I fed the dog and watered your houseplants for you. It’s an expression.

 

Aveline left us to join the guard, and the legend of the Hawke Sisters began. I’m not sure exactly how this happened, (I blame Marian’s inability to give polite introductions as they give her hives and our overall passing physical resemblance), but I had somehow managed to be included in this group. It may not have helped that Marian, Bethany, and Leandra went out of their way to encourage the smuggler grapevine. My skillset was somewhere between Marian’s rogue tendencies and Aveline’s best shield smashing, a clever little bit of madness my world calls ‘mixed martial arts’. Yes, my tendency to smack things and drag them to the ground before eliminating the problem is actually something that was trained into me. Yup, thighs of death and the hammer suplex too, plus all that sliding on my knees. Why in the world do you think I was so insistent about padding? If you would hold still more often or we did this shit inside for once, I’d be doing a lot more using you as a springboard. Which, that was apparently distressing for all parties involved. So Bethany made an arrangement with Athenril to get me my first hammer as, and I quote, ‘bashing people’s brains in with your bare hands is terrifying, stop that.’

 

So that’s why I have this hammer of mine. It’s pretty handy when I have to get a bit of distance and actually need some impromptu leverage to curb-stomp a motherfucker.

 

The Hawke Sisters are pretty well known in the Lowtown smuggling sphere. We’re swift, brutal, pretty, and have a ridiculous success rate. If we ever got a uniform we’d be the bee’s knees. Sometimes Hawke would make me stay with Leandra, but for the most part I worked when the Hawkes worked. I’d been adding armor piece by piece to my usal kit, but the corset always remained.  The fact that I can carry all of this is still mind-boggling. There is something really, really wrong with Thedan physics. But my corset made for some pretty good armor, or at least it did once I actually bothered and took a few weeks to affix this lovely fancy chainmail-esque metalwork to it. I like how it’s all feathers, shiny steel on crimson and black and as much black and red fabric as possible for the rest of it. Black stockings and a black asymmetrical skirt, black thigh high boots with metal plating and feather spurs.  Everyone else wears nice colors and I ghost along in crimson, black, and metal, arms armored up to my shoulders and enough metal to make a takedown so much more fun. You know, my father paid a perfectly healthy amount of money for me to train in hand to hand combat in multiple styles. Yes, I will freely admit that I am not a master of any of those styles, but that’s what being a jack-of-all-trades implies.

 

But no, brawling and ground game make Bethany concerned I’m hurting people. Yes, there are actual rules with Bethany when it comes to violence. For starters, one is not allowed to bash people against the floor until there’s a blood smear. Physics, the hell is going on with them here. Oh please don’t attempt to fix them, I’m loving this punch that shatters doors thing I have going on now. Let’s not even talk about the magic of what happens when I kick people these days.

 

My Mohawk got longer, like ridiculously longer, and I’ve been trying to keep the edges trimmed. That was maintained with careful application of knives and Leandra’s patience, but in general my little owl poof has now become a majestic mane of curly brown and golden goodness. You let it poof up like normal in the front, and then gather it back into a braid in the back. I’ve gone from an owl to a majestic pony, and I am deeply okay with that. Don’t mock the braid. Generally I’ve gotten a lot healthier in the year I’ve been in Thedas, because a year of nonstop exercise and actually healthy food will do that for you. I never fought like this when I was at home, and all the fear I ever had of combat died a rapid death in the face of magical glowing weirdness and potions. Pain is temporary, but hammers to the soft spots are eternal.

 

Gamlen Amell and I have an understanding: he doesn’t touch me and I don’t hurt him. Over the past year most of our interactions have been comprised of the words ‘wench’ and ‘ser’. The first time he had goosed me I had reached back and decked him. Thankfully I hadn’t had my gauntlets yet, and so I did little more than black his eye and break his nose. Still made me feel better. Really, grabbing the ass of a lady who has a giant hammer hanging off her back is a terrible idea to begin with. He’s lucky he’s related to Hawke or I’d have given him what-for.  Which, the fact that I can use this hammer non-ironically is awesome. It’s made of nothing but iron and cedar wood, the head of which is the size of my head and a half, and I have the best ideas on how to use it. The more I practice with it (usually on terrible people and large spiders, don’t worry) means the more comfortable I become with the weight. There was a famous warrior in my world by the name of Bruce Lee who said that he did not fear someone who had practiced a thousand kicks, but he feared someone who practiced the same kick a thousand times. So I practiced my hammer blows over and over when I had any downtime, because I was determined to be good.

 

The Hawke Sisters could be summed up in three words: bleed, burn, and bash. Marian would bleed ‘em to death with her knives, Bethany burns ‘em to death with her magic, and Allu bashes ‘em to death with her hammer. I’ve come to a sort of casual mental state when it comes to the thought of murder. If these people wanted to survive so badly, they wouldn’t be attacking us. Who looks at a trio of well-armed women and goes ‘oh, I think I shall rob them today’? Dead people. Dead people do. Our year of smuggling made me dreadfully comfortable with some of the shadier aspects of Kirkwall, and I had to start having weekly meetings with Aveline to try to keep at least some of my moral compass functional. Aveline has always treated me like an equal, with respect and good manners, but she keeps asking me questions about my home. As far as she’s concerned, I haven’t done anything illegal. In return, I try to keep her as informed of the more heinous crimes before they happen as I hear about them. But sometimes she asks the weirdest questions and I can’t deal well with them.

 

“If you don’t mind me asking, why a hammer?”

 

“Pound for pound damage potential?”

 

“Really? Not what I was expecting.”

 

“Plus it makes me look like I eat people for breakfast. Barbarian queen rawr.”

 

“… Why did I bother?”

 

Or once she caught me trying to see if I could balance her monthly report ledger on my head and still swing my hammer without them falling off. Which, I can in fact do now after a copious amount of practice.

 

“What in the Maker’s name… Allu!”

 

“Shush, it’s lady practice time. Respect the grace necessary if not the madness behind it.”

 

“Does that actually help?”

 

“Oh hell no. But my posture is great.”

 

“Hawke kicked you out again, didn’t she?”

 

Sometimes Aveline and I will have rough days, ones where we tried to stop something and the result was so bad we either had to be serious or we’ll cry. You have to respect Aveline’s determination and her willingness to get the good liquor on the shitty days. Otherwise I probably wouldn’t be as willing to put on the guard armor for a night and help out. Helmets suck by the way.

 

“What were you like, before you did this? Before you bound yourself to Hawke.”

 

“Mm… just a normal girl, really. Read a lot, solved people’s problems. Bane of my mother’s existence since I never wanted to get married.” I did not realize until later that normal females in Thedas do not have that as a normal life experience, only nobles did and not nearly to the extent I did.

 

“A… jarl was it? Was that what you were?”

 

“Ah.. I’m thrall. What I was before doesn’t matter. It keeps our castes from trying to get retribution. I’m pretty sure my father would have Hawke’s head on a pike to get me out of this otherwise.”

 

“Is that why you don’t use your whole name?”

 

“Seeing as how I doubt my father could find me all the way here… let’s not give him a reason to try.”

 

“Alaudidae is a pretty name though. It suits you.”

 

“Your name is prettier. Aveline. Ahvehleene. Hmm… meine erste Freunde, meine Aveline.”

 

“I have no idea what you just said, but I’ll take it as a compliment.”

 

When all four of us would ‘cooperate for the sake of Kirkwall’s peace,’ Aveline was the only one who bothered to try to understand the obscenities I screamed at people in the heat of battle. She’s my best friend, even considering the closeness a thrall has to their karl or jarl. Hawke was a kinder karl than I could have ever expected, one who actively goes out of her way to never use me for my pledged function. That kind of wholesale violence is uncomfortable for people to watch. Fenris has his kicks out of using what his dreiten verdammten master gave him to hurt the bastard and anyone remotely connected to Danarius. I can respect that. What I do, what Fenris doesn’t even do at his worst, is so much more complicated. I pledged everything I am to Hawke, every shred of knowledge and potential sworn to her name. If Hawke asks, I am honor bound to comply. She is my Meister, I am thrall. Simple enough. I fight with blunt force trauma and my body itself is my preferred weapon. Fenris fights with lyrium and sharp-edged precision. One of us is going to make the bigger mess when they go full on, and it sure as shit isn’t Fenris.

 

Until we met you, Hawke had only used me as her thrall once and only once. The resulting carnage as I painted the walls with brains and blood were enough to turn her stomach. It’s not a pretty sort of moment, not as I go so quiet and vicious. Athenril needed to know where her gold was, Hawke needed in the front door. Bethany was home sick with Leandra and Aveline had patrol on the other side of Kirkwall. Needs do what they must, and so Hawke told me to clear her a path. Gravity makes things interesting, especially since I’ve been carting thirty some odd pounds of metal and leather on my person at all times. It builds up plenty of muscle, muscle that I will happily use to squish heads between my thighs like nuts in a press. If I ever have to drop that hammer, I’m going to do what my father taught me how to do, and that means leverage and precision high speed strikes. And yes, I will put my heel in someone’s face. There’s a reason my feet are armored, and it’s not because people like to try to hit my feet to make me drop my hammer. Hawke and I have made a mutual decision to never talk about the incidents of that day, and since then she tries so hard to not take me places that might make me need to hurt people all by myself.

 

I don’t like that part of thralldom. It brings out a side of me that I hate. I am my father’s daughter, and I was raised on the logic of walking softly while carrying a big stick. And as my father liked to say: there ain’t no kill like overkill, and there ain’t no overkill complete without pants-pissing terror. Schadenfreude is a state of being we don’t talk about in my family. It just happens, those moments were we get an unbridled amount of joy out of watching other people fail or suffer. Combined with my natural sadomasochism… I was built to enjoy misfortune in general.

 

I’ve never really been clear on where or when we first heard about Bartram’s expedition, not even who we heard it from. But the Hawke Sisters (plus the Lark) agreed that restoring the Amell name would be best served by the results of that expedition. You know the piles of gold and shiny things we could drag out of there. Basically we wanted to hire on because money is great. And then your brother turned us down, which sucked donkey testicles, and we collectively realized we had no plan B.

 

Well, I had a plan B. Didn’t like it, but there was always the time honored tradition of getting a job. Like at the Blooming Rose. I’d had a few offers from the nice lady who ran the place when I wandered Hightown, so I didn’t really see a problem with it. Donating my paycheck to the cause couldn’t have been that bad, the lady was promising me a sovereign a day. Hilariously, I had brought it up as an option when the Hawkes were discussing how best to raise our collective fortunes. Bethany and Marian had turned white as sheets and they had damn near cried. “No. We’re not going to make you do that. We’ll think of something else. Not that Allu, never that.” Varric, please tell me you recognized that I was an adult within the first few days of meeting me. I love the Hawkes, but every single one of them seriously think I’m a child who needs to be kept away from certain things in life. Like, apparently, sex. Oh my giddy aunt, Marian would rather me disembowel people with my toes than have sexual relations. It’s the strangest thing, as I very distinctly remember having sex before I ever killed someone.

 

According to Leandra, Bethany and I are a good influence on Marian’s decision making processes. Something about big sisters protecting the littler ones.

 

I think I’ve been adopted. Not sure on that one.

 

I’m pretty sure my miserable height isn’t helping.  Do you know how awkward it is to be an abysmally short member of your race? Oh, no. You’re the embodiment of all that is attractive about dwarves. So yes, Bartram turned us down. Three human women trying to get into the Deep Roads? One of whom looked like she was maybe twelve with excellent breasts? We’re just a touch suicidal aren’t we? But we needed the money if we were going to restore the Amell name. What choice did we have?

 

Hawke getting robbed? Not on the list of acceptable things.

 

Watching a pickpocket get pinned like a beetle on a card? Completely on the list of acceptable things.

 

Bianca in general? I want on. Not Bianca exactly, but a mechanized repeating crossbow with a retractable bayonet in general would be nice. I’ll take two. Smaller than Bianca would be nice, seeing as how I’m not a brick shit house like you. The recoil alone would end with me smacking myself in the face. Especially if I end up using any kind of chemical additive such as gunpowder. Or acid. Oh, maybe I could whip up some napalm and fire that at people. Food for thought. Citronella oil, sugar, and some aluminum. It could be done.

 

So, yes, fine. I drooled over Bianca. I’m not ashamed of that in the least. She’s a beauty, truly. I’m a girl who likes weapons and a bit more than is absolutely necessary and Bianca is one hell of a fine lady. I was good though, I behaved. The little scream and flailing of my arms was a completely involuntary reaction. Lord almighty and saints preserve I love your crossbow. I could write entire odes to Bianca. I’ve drunkenly sung entire ballads to Bianca. I’m sorry that I’m not actually sorry for my complete and utter silence for the first ten minutes or so of knowing you. But that power. The precision. Heilige Scheisse you run around with the Thedan equivalent of a magnum revolver like it isn’t even a thing and I need it. But in the middle of my ogling, you made us an offer. And you actually tried to talk to me, bless your heart.

 

“So, you’ve got quite the reputation.”

 

“Ye.”

 

“The brutal beauty of the Sisters Hawke. You’re much prettier in person.”

 

“… Ye?”

 

“You don’t talk much, do you?”

 

“… No.”

 

You laughed like I was actually funny, not just having a really weird reaction. Bethany did do her best to keep the peace as we skulked through Hightown, she really did. Namely, she tried her level best to keep my grubby mitts away from Bianca. You noticed, and in hindsight this was rather hilarious to me.

 

“Her name’s Bianca.”

 

“Ye!” I can chirp when I feel like it, so there.

 

“I’m Varric.”

 

“Ye?”

 

“And you are?”

 

“… Allu. Ye.”

 

“Good talk. We’ll work on that.”

 

Please compare our earliest conversations to the one we had after we talked to Aveline and Bethany threw her hands up and went home with a migraine. Aveline gives me a certain amount of spinal fortitude that Bethany and Marian just don’t. Disappointing Aveline is fundamentally distressing to me, as I’ve seen her do some amazing things with that sword and shield of hers and she’s damn near my personal hero. After Flemeth, of course.

 

“Ah, Alaudidae. Good morning.”

 

“Uh, she doesn’t-“

 

“Good morrow, Aveline. Have you the pleasure of acquainting with Varric yet?”

 

“Son of a bitch, you do talk!”

 

“Ye!”

 

Marian tried so hard not to laugh at you and I. So hard, and she actually succeeded for a while. Somewhere between running around Hightown and Lowtown with our oh so witty banter she couldn’t help it anymore. I’m pretty sure Aveline and Marian thought we had both lost our marbles and you thought I was some kind of touched in the head. Which I am and will not ever deny being touched in the head, but frankly with all things considered I’m handling all of this extremely well. Besides, Bianca makes my brain do giddy back flips of glee at the sheer potential alone. How do other people not lose their shit over your crossbow? I literally do not understand. With the complex mechanisms necessary to produce that amount of force per square inch alone, if one turned it ballista sized you could rip through a brick wall like it was wet clay. Or one could take those mechanisms and apply them with water pressure and pistons- No one actually cares what I think. I’m just here to smash things. Science is apparently beyond us muscle-bound types; you told me so yourself. Joke’s on you now, isn’t it? It’s been weeks upon weeks since then and I still remember your terrible assumptions.

 

“So Hawke. Exactly what does Princess do?”

 

Hawke paused in our walk long enough to turn and give you that ‘you are some kind of idiot’ look of hers. “Really? The hammer doesn’t give it away?”

 

“Alaudidae is quite… exceptional at removing problems.”

 

“By hitting them really hard?”

 

“Sometimes I light things on fire!”

 

“That. That isn’t much more reassuring, Princess.”

 

I don’t see anyone complaining about Fenris sticking his hand in people and ripping their hearts out or about Aveline smacking people in their faces with her shield. So why in the name of toast and waffles does it bother you lot so much that my bread and butter comes primarily from beating things to death with a hammer and burning the dead? Ok yes, now that I think about it, tossing random burning things at people and laughing as they screamed may in fact be slightly sick. But their faces. The chickens. The fact that I know how to ricochet a glass jar off a hammer in just enough time to let it be wreathed in flames before I smack someone with it. How are you lot not impressed with this? It’s fire. I keep it in bottles. On my ass. Shake and toss and watch the bitches burn. Which, why are none of you all that surprised that I smell like lemongrass and sugar all the time? It’s not my soap that smells like this. It sure isn’t liniment or anything. Though yes, ok, I have been known to rub It into my neck on occasion. It keeps the bugs away.

 

Physics in Thedas are weird. The air is generally cleaner than where I come from, and I’m not even sure gravity works quite the same way.  Logically, I should not be able to lift my hammer, let alone traipse about the world using it as an actual weapon. It’s not anything in the composition of the thing (I checked) as it uses just as much wood and iron as it looks like it does. By all rights, the vast majority of bonehead stupid muscle-bound things I do should not be possible. Like anything involving my hammer. Yes, okay sure, I have some glorious muscle definition and am not a twig like Merrill. But my muscles are not the size of my head, which is what they would need to be where I come from in order for me to even dream of lifting this hammer just the once. Point is, I specialize in ‘Allu Smash’ because I can. It’s fun for me. Messy, oh yes it is very messy, but super fun. Remember that one time you went with us to Darktown and I smacked that one guy so hard he had actual air travel time? That’s called a ‘long drive’ from a game called golf where you smack little balls the size of someone’s eye into cups way off on the horizon. And it worked on a person, which is why I was so confused.

 

“FORE!”

 

“Oh good swing Princess.” And of course you have to do that courtly little bow every time.

 

So of course I fake curtsey back. This should be obvious. “Ye!”

 

“Heads up!” Yes, fine. I skipped on the way over to get your back. I did not use the hammer in the prescribed method of hammer bashing Bethany and Marian taught me. So sorry.

 

“… Are they supposed to land like that?”

 

“No. No I don’t think they are.”

 

I’m sorry. I panicked. You looked like you were going to get ganked by some nameless douchewaffle. I Fixed it. Didn’t need to give me the look like I had bought a farm or some shit. “Oh. Oops?”

 

You have to understand, when we first met Anders, I didn’t like him. I’m still sort of on the fence about him now and we’ve frolicked about the wilderness together and he’s held my guts in my body. Something about him bothers me and I can’t explain it. No, it’s not that he’s attractive. You’re all unfairly attractive. I came to grips with that a really long time ago. There’s something about him that makes me want to put my hackles up like a dog and bay warning. He makes me _nervous_. I was kind of ridiculously glad that Hawke decided to take care of our other errands before anything else involving him. And by errands I mean we attempted to go home, waved off Aveline and bade her good night before running into Bethany. Also, do all dwarves fresh from the underground really think they’re going to fall into the sky? Varric, if you think that you’ve never shown this and I am honestly concerned for you. I did actually try to be nice to him, I really did.

 

“The force of the world’s rotation keeps you in place. The closer to the heart of the world where the denser mass lie, the more that force applies. Thus creating pressure that has caused the dwarven species as a whole to evolve as a more compact race to deal with the pressure of oxygen and other gases in the atmosphere as well as optimizing your oxygen capacity.” I really, honest and truly, did try to be nice. This is really hard to accomplish when you all start staring at me like I’ve grown a second head. I’m complete rubbish at this ‘support and comfort’ thing. Stop making it harder. “Um… gravity? It’s a constant? Physics and the laws of natural order? Ye, ohitay then. Ignore me. Carry on. Shipment get and smash all the things, got it.” I’m just going to keep my big mouth shut and my science to myself. I don’t like being stared out like I’m the second coming of the advent of technology.  Plus you dwarves get creepy faces when it looks like I’ve learned some super special secret of the cave people.

 

Apparently the basics of ‘how the world works’ that have been drilled into my head since I was three are completely new concepts here. This bodes so well for me. Like you don’t even understand, Varric. There are things I know how to do that would boggle your mind. Like formulas. So many formulas and laws on how the world works without magic. Now just consider that if I know how to do it without magic, what would happen if I added in a pinch of lyrium or something. (The correct answer is I will burn things and no water will put it out and I will blame it entirely on Anders. Entirely. Do not let me play with lyrium and breakfast ever again.)

 

I’m blaming my general level of exhaustion for my rather artless violence and damn near fire-breathing lizard level temper. We turned the Alienage yard into nothing but churned bloody mud and ash for next to no reward, and still the assholes came out of the woodwork. There were only four of us and we can only do so much at once. I am sorry I used you as a springboard to smack someone with a flaming hammer, but there was a bastard way on the other side that kept shooting arrows at me and that gets annoying really quickly. But we killed the pricks. Huzzah. Good game, stick a fork in Allu since she was done and ready to go the hell to bed. And then came Fenris.

 

Since you were there, I don’t really need to explain how weird it looks when he sticks his hand in someone’s ribcage and ends them. “That’s just… Ach. Sehr hubsch. That’s going on the list of ‘things Allu is not prepared to deal with,’ Hawke.”

 

“Hm. I apologize for the distress then.” Yes Varric, Fenris talks and Allu turns red. A direct conversation might have resulted in spontaneous human combustion on the spot. “Hnnnrgh… ye. I’m fine. We’re fine. Thank you.” His smile has to be illegal for its sheer perversion of the natural order. No man should be able to not even half-ass smirk at any female and melt their brain. It’s not fair. Does he even know that he’s way too stupidly attractive for mortal viewing? Would someone please tell him for me before this working relationship gets any more awkward than it needs to be? Wait, no, that’s a terrible idea. Shush your face Varric, this is now officially a secret. I’ll give you my recipe for lyrium napalm (yes, the shit I keep in the shiny lyrium potion bottle that has to be shaken before I spark my gauntlets on it and throw) if you keep your mouth shut. Swear to all that is holy, Fenris is going to be the death of me. So yes, he smirks and I lose my shit. Yes okay, it’s plenty awkward as it is. I have a problem. He’s just so- you know what, fuck it.

 

Varric, if anyone else reads or hears about this from you, or if you casually allude (yes I make puns) to my giant inappropriate crush on our resident grumpy elf, I will do something drastic.

 

I was perfectly fine traipsing about Hightown in the dark. After all, I’ve been traipsing about with Hawke for what feels like forever. So yes, I was a bit like a Mabari on the hunt, but I found Danarius’ old house pretty damn quick and in a hurry. And there was Fenris in the moonlight and _Lord Almighty that shit is just not fair_. His hair kind of glows under the moon, and his tattoos stand out against his skin even as his eyes glitter. Maybe it’s the lyrium (I’m fully fucking aware I’m making excuses for the fact that I find him attractive shut up). He waited for us. Mostly for Marian. But then again, Fenris does actually listen to Marian when she bosses him around. It’s kind of funny, mostly disheartening. But it was Hawke’s call on who actually went in and who stayed out. Bethany, you, me, or to go call Aveline. Fenris and Hawke were a given, it was the other spots that were up for grabs. Marian and Bethany were damn near attached at the hip, so Marian’s quick including of her was expected.

 

“Allu.” I had doing my level best not to stare at Fenris like a ten year old with her first crush, and so I had been occupying myself with trying to calculate if I could drop the building and how much it would take. But Marian’s been really good about yanking my head out of the clouds and dreams of giant explosions in the night. “Ja, meine Meister?” The trick is to focus and pretend like Fenris isn’t listening and that tossing bottles is the best shit since Wicked Grace was invented. “It’s late. Go home to Mother.” She has a terrible tendency of treating me like a child sometimes, complete with an actual bedtime and moral fiber I don’t actually give a shit about. “Go home and get some rest. No mixing until daylight.”

 

“You sure that’s a good idea? Princess might like to get a few hits in. All things considering.” Marian frowned and Fenris looked super interested and why oh why did you open your mouth Varric. I appreciate your dwarvish wingman sentiments, but no. Not with Fenris right the hell there. You think you’re slick with your wiggling eyebrows and head jerks, but you’re not. The fact that I’m basically the unofficial singular servant of the Hawke family is like the worst kept secret in Kirkwall; for all that I’m counted as part of the Sisters Hawke it’s actually only honorary. I have a sister and she isn’t a Hawke. But yes, I would indeed have liked to stick it to Fenris’ former master on principle alone. But you called me Princess and I swear to Andraste herself that you could fucking hear Fenris snap his focus to me. Thank you Varric oh so much for that moment in my life. I don’t think I could have been more embarrassed if you had actually tried. My own mother hasn’t even been able to do that, and she knows all the best stories of my childhood stupidity. Good job.

 

“Princess?” Oh be still my beating heart, this nickname of yours is going to be the death of me. I hate you and I love you at the same time sweet tap-dancing raptor saints above and below. Yes, okay, I squeaked when he called me that. “Nicht, nicht, niiiiicht! Varric’s just being a terrible person. Ignore him. I’ll be going now. Ye. Happy hunting!” So yes, okay. I flipped you off on the way away from this madness. You deserved it for being such an asshole. Seriously. “Go fuck yourself Varric. Andraste preserve me, I will get my revenge.” Whisper hissing in the night carries, fuck it all.

 

Fenris just made that slightly intrigued yet puzzled sound of his. “Where is she the princess of exactly?”

 

“The hearts of men everywhere. And some women. We’re not sure on that front, but the view’s fantastic.”

 

“VERDAMMTEN SCHWEIN! HALTE DEINE KLAPPE!”

 

So he hummed again. Oh my god. “I see.” Like that made all the world make so much better sense.

 

My hate is unending. Mine is a long memory, and revenge is a dish best served glacially cold. I did actually go home back to Gamlen and Leandra (and a long night of waiting). In the event of an actual order from Hawke, it’s usually best to just comply. Saves everyone some effort in the long run. I may have taken the scenic route and ran into a few stragglers that hadn’t been dealt with by either Fenris or us. The uniforms matched and they were talking about Fenris like he was some sort of wayward dog. Smacking them around was my civic duty. Besides, I have a seething hatred of Tevinter soldiers that is strange considering that I’ve never actually been anywhere close to the Imperium. There’s a principle to this, and I fully realize that if Gamlen’s gambling problem gets any worse he might actually try to sell me to Tevinter. As I do not actually consider myself a slave for as long as the Hawkes don’t consider me one, I would not appreciate this in the slightest.

 

Now that I think about it, neither would Fenris. Awkward as our interactions may be, he’s still against it on historical basis alone. Which he would be if he understood the situation in the slightest.

 

Marian must have picked up on my unspoken dislike of Anders, because she frowned at me when I went to arm up the next morning. She came back with a terrible black eye and a split lip, grumpier than usual as she watched me patch up arrow holes in my shirt. Yes, I like sewing and cooking. Don’t ask for anything fancy mind you, but I can patch a damn hole and it will damn well stay patched. It’s soothing when compared to the rest of my life. Leandra’s been teaching me in my down time with her, and she’s deemed me competent enough to fix my own clothes with minor input from her. We don’t talk about the first few weeks of sewing practice. Ever. Leandra might if you ask nicely, but I’m taking that tragedy to my grave. Bethany’s gotten pretty good at patching up the little people holes (like needle holes) and in return I take super-secret care of her clothes too.

 

“Take the day off Allu. Do something you want to do for once.” Something happened in that manor that night, something that made her a bit more upset than I am capable of dealing with. “Marian? Is something wrong? Have I displeased you in some way?” I put down my sewing and squinted as I tilted my head up at her and just waited for an actual explanation. “That’s not it. Allu… you’ve been helping us with everything. You don’t even ask for anything except more things to help us. Do you even like fighting? Don’t you want to do normal things for girls your age?” Why yes, Fenris did bother her quite a bit. Enough for her to look like my existence was designed to make Dog sad. “Hawke. I chose this. No one’s making me doing anything. I help because it’s the right thing to do, not because I have to. You know that. Has he… Fenris. Has he done or said something to upset you? I’ll clean his fucking clock for you.”

 

“You’re avoiding the question. You always do that. Do you want this? Really. Damn your ‘right thing to do’ for today. Do and say what you want. I don’t want or need a slave. You’re not like Fenris and I refuse to let you grow up to be like him.” Well shit. Varric, have you ever seen Marian lose her temper? It’s kind of terrifying in not a good way. Also, I called it. I fucking called it. “I’m not a child Hawke. Not am I your slave. I’m a thrall. There’s a difference. For all my faults, I do try to be a decent person. You saved my life. No, don’t start that again. You did. You saved my life and gave me a new one in place of something I can’t go back to. Even if you send me away I’m still going to help you. _I owe you_. And nothing will change that.”

 

“So explain the difference. Convince me I’m not the Danarius to your Fenris. Make me believe it Allu.”

 

“A slave does not have a choice, by definition they live for the sake of their master’s every whim. Any choice they have is taken from them, right down to the words they speak. There is no out clause to their contract. A thrall has all the choices in the world save that which is ordered, and even then there is still a choice. I choose everything.”

 

“And so you chose to become this? You hate it, we can tell. So, why?”

 

“Because my name is not Alaudidae and I have nothing left. I’m already broken, Hawke, but you make it better.” Liar, liar, pants on fire. The longer the lie runs, the longer there’s a chance to be caught at it. I thought the lie was obvious enough. No one names their child something like that. No family has a name like that. It should have been obvious. Apparently not to Marian.

 

“That doesn’t make any sense.” Of course it doesn’t Marian. You’re a fucking idiot from a backwater and thralldom is a complex social structure for an over two thousand year old civilization on a whole other plane of existence. Of course it doesn’t make any sense to you.

 

“Thralldom ends with weregild. It’s usually paid off with continuous service for a year and a day in general servitude. Less time if spent in combat. Hazard pay and all that. Everything else? That’s my choice.”

 

“You… you’ve been free. But you’re still serving us.”

 

“Ye. I’m still pledged to House Hawke on principle, but I haven’t been a thrall in a hell of a long time.”

 

Hawke doesn’t like being lied to. She also doesn’t like having someone pull a fast one on her for as long as I did. When she spoke, it was alike she was being careful with the words, tasting their effect before she strung them together. “Why do you stay? Why not just count your service as done and leave?”

 

“Because I have nothing else. No one else. You still need me, so I stay.”

 

“That can’t be it.” Marian when she’s mad gets stubborn as an ox, hands clenched into fists and pacing that never stops. I made her mad. “Get out. Go… find something else. Your services are no longer required.” Bless her, she tried. But I seemed to have tripped the ‘irritated Hawke’ flag.  Wonder if that means I’ll never be an official part of the madness.  On an intellectual level I understand why she was so upset, but on an emotional level it was distressing to say the least. I had oh so blatantly manipulated her and now it was biting me in the ass. There’s no arguing with her when she gets that mad, so I quietly snipped the end of my thread with my teeth and slipped my arm back into the sleeve.

 

I don’t actually have _things_ aside from that which I had on my person when I showed up in Fereldan. The contents of my purse have been a closely guarded secret from even Hawke. Not like anyone has ever been able to figure out what to do with a dead cell phone. Or the keys to my front door. I ate all the candy I had in the bottom, and am slowly working my way through abusing every little shred of chapstick. Eyeliner is nice to have, as is my lip gloss, but those won’t last. Always, always, I reek of three things: vanilla, citronella, and sugar. Only one of those things came out of my purse. Said purse has served me well over the time here in Kirkwall. Its high quality, hand painted, makes me look like an Orlesian messenger of sorts. It holds my potions and my secrets well enough, just enough space for a little sewing kit and what’s left of my sanity.

 

I grabbed my corset and my purse, bit my lip and tried not to squint as I brought my mind to bear.  She didn’t even let me finish contemplating the thought before she damn near threw my hammer and armor at me. “Those are yours. They’ve always been. Come back when you’ve got your head on straight.” Marian knows me too well, gives me time to think and brood and doesn’t talk all through. She always said I came up with the weirdest plans when given enough time. For then? I needed to figure myself out before I could do anything else.

 

I bowed on the way out, comfortable numb and several levels of confused and hurting. Did this mean I wasn’t allowed to help anymore? Had I just failed my flag and been summarily kicked out of the fun? It was too much too fast, and so I did what I always did when shit got far too real: I went to see Aveline. Aveline, my patron saint of the good liquor and not so many questions, was on patrol according to the other guards and so I was quite summarily kicked out of the guardhouse as well. Back in the daylight, my eyes stung and my cheeks burned, but I damn near floated through Hightown. Or at least I tried to, until someone decided to pop my bubble of sorts. “Princess?” Ah. Wait. That wasn’t you. That was about as far away from you as was humanly possible.

 

Remember how I said I hated you for that nickname? You somehow managed to convince other people that my actual role in life is as some displaced nobility from far and away. I accept it as a nickname when it comes out of your mouth, not out of the mouths of people like Fenris. Why do I not accept it out of people like Fenris you ask? Oh so happy you finally decided to care about what I think. Did you know that he has never used my name in the entire time I have known him? Any of them. Not even my nickname. It’s always ‘Princess’ or ‘Your Royal Highness’ or ‘Lady’. Do you have any idea what that kind of thing does to a devout book-type like me? _It’s very distracting_. It doesn’t help that he has a very distinctive voice that I gravitate towards like iron fillings to a magnet. I can’t help it; he fulfills a deep and abiding hole in my soul for ‘people who I need to do things with’. Fenris doesn’t touch people unless he absolutely has to, but my floating self was having some issues seeing past the fog and abnormally blurry haze. Cold metal on my shoulder, low voice in my ear and hello consciousness. “Where is Hawke?”

 

You know how when we first met I could barely string a sentence together in your presence? Yeah. It’s like this. “Home.” I am the _best_ conversationalist. Hands down.

 

There was a long pause as Fenris stared at me. At least I think he stared at me. It was kind of hard to tell with all the aforementioned blurriness. “Why are you crying?” Up until that moment I hadn’t pieced it together that the wet, stinging blur meant I was crying. And what made it better was that I forgot I had my gauntlets on, so when I tried to wipe the tears off I ended up scratching a pair of lines straight from the inner corners of my eyes to follow the curve of my eye sockets. I did not get those ‘marks of badassery’ from actual factual badass moments. Those lines in my cheeks? Yeah those burned like fire from all the salt in my tears, which made me cry harder and unending recurring loop later. “Venhedis. Where do you live? I’ll take you home.” Points for effort Fenris, definite points for trying to use my elbow to steer me around. Minus points for attempting to get me right back to Hawke.

 

So yes, I do not cry prettily. My face turns splotchy and I make these pathetic little whimpering howls that sound like someone is making a puppy cry. On that particular instance it was made worse by the blood that ran down my face and the shuddering gasps of air I tried to swallow down. “Don’t. Have. Anywhere.” Talking is hard when one is trying not to bawl one’s eyes out in the middle of Hightown. Or when one is trying to stop crying in front of stupidly attractive men one has the worst crush on. Elves of the male persuasion, whatever you call them. I tried not to make a scene, but a lone woman crying blood in front of a heavily armored and dangerous looking elf will cause a situation regardless. “Come. I’d rather not be a public spectacle.” My mother always told me not to follow strangers, but this is Fenris. If he wanted to hurt me, I’d be dead already with my heart in his hand. I may pack a punch due to weird ass physics, but in a straight one on one fight with Fenris? I would lose and lose so terribly it would be an embarrassment to all parties.

 

Fenris’ manor looks like a shithole. Probably because it is in fact a shithole. There’s broken furniture and rubble everywhere, recently deceased abominations littering the building. That was the first time I had ever seen an abomination and Fenris had just shoved them all into a corner like it wasn’t even a thing. “What in the name of Fenrir’s teeth are those?”

 

“My name is Fenris. Those are abominations, demons attracted by blood magic.”

 

“Oh. Not you? Fenrir is the wolf god, spawned from my patron god. Are abominations hard to kill?” My voice sounded weird to me, like someone else was talking into an empty glass jar. Flat and almost bored, like the stranger speaking to Fenris was engaged in a clinical examination. All facts and no emotion, even as I glided through the manor with blood all over my face. I exist on the grace of other people, and I don’t actually know how to survive here all by myself. They lead, I follow. Simple as that. Fenris led me up the stairs and pointed to what I think was a chair in the least destroyed area of his manor so far. “Sit. Collect yourself and then explain, if you can.”

 

Everyone here treats me like a child. How am I supposed to deal with that?

 

I did what I was told, because that’s what I always do. Sit, stay, attack, go home, take care of Leandra. Hold this, eat that, smash this. I told Hawke I made my own choices, but clearly I didn’t. A thousand and one things not to do, and a handful of things I was allowed. And I had done it to myself. And for what? To get into Kirkwall? Hawke would have taken me anyway. To have somewhere to live? I could have joined the guard with Aveline or gotten a room at the Hanged man. And instead I did what? Stuck myself into a societal system that belonged to a long dead branch of a civilization I claimed as a religious preference. Thralls are fucking slaves. I chose to become a slave because I couldn’t stand to be treated like a child, which happened _anyway_.

 

“Have you ever done something desperate that came back to haunt you later?” Less like a bell in a jar, but the voice was still sort of detached. I could focus a little better, so there was that. Fenris stared unblinkingly at me and I sighed. “Of course you have. Stupid question, sorry. Long story short? I had something awful happen about a year or so ago, and I did something stupid. Aaaaand now I’ve used up all of Hawke’s patience because she met you and now she has this deep _understanding_.”

 

Fenris did make actual movement at that, bending enough to lean over and stare at me like I was some kind of errant child he was cursed with dealing with. “Forgive me, your highness, but I don’t see what this has to do with me.”

 

“Oh fuck this. Look.” I do actually try really hard not to do stupid things like looking directly at Fenris and his oh too pretty green eyes, but this was just sad. It took all of ten second to unbutton my shirt far enough to expose the scar I had carved into my chest that still bled on occasion. “Fehu. Nordic futhark, as it is right now it means cattle. I did this to _myself_.” This was yet another super awkward moment in my life, and my fingers fumbled as I covered myself back up to the cheerful sound of silence. “Not as… dramatic as forced lyrium tattoos and probably nowhere near as uncomfortable… I don’t know how to say this. It’s really hard to explain in brief.”

 

Cold. Poultices are cold. Also, Fenris is really fucking fast when he wants to be. He damn near slapped the shit on my face and sat back down. “Try to enlighten me, Princess.”

 

“… Okay, you have got to stop calling me that. Call me Allu, that’s what I go by here. Also, you’re going to think I’m crazy. Please don’t flip out and attempt to murder me. I can prove it, but everybody is most likely going to want different proof so I have no idea what proof will work for you. I’m just going to… start at the beginning and you can have questions at the end. You’re going to have a lot of questions.” I took a deep breath and tried my hardest to ignore the now persistent ringing in my ears. Fenris was the first to hear my story, before you and far before any of the Hawkes.

 

He took it surprisingly well actually. So well I think I may have taken to pre-emptively tensing my feet in a hilariously hopeless attempt to prepare myself to run like a boy chased by wolves. “Why tell me this? Why not Hawke?” Fenris was confused over many things that day, and I just piled it on.

 

At least the bleeding stopped. Also, telling the truth for once was strangely cathartic Bit like opening up a festering wound and just letting the pressure flow out. “Because you’re a constant. And Hawke… Hawke is a variable in flux. There’s a myriad of things Hawke could have been and still could be. A man, a woman, a mage, a warrior, damning end or holy salvation. You? You’re always Fenris. I just met you and I trust you because of what I know. That’s… actually now I think about it that’s really weird.”

 

Fenris sighed, fingers pinched at the bridge of his nose. “Your story makes very little sense.”

 

“Prove it?” I took the poultices off my face and nodded in his general direction. The bleeding had stopped, so there was that.

 

“If you would be so kind.”  Did you know that when Fenris does his little ‘get on with it’ hand motion and he’s leaning in a chair that it looks way too much like a scene from one of Isabella’s specials? Because it does. He looked more like pornography in that moment than any living being should.

 

“Mmkay. So. Promise not to go all lyrium ghost or murder elf on me?”

 

Fenris has a sense of humor. It just sounds drier than a desert in the summer and you have to look for it. “I shall endeavor to do my best.”

 

“I’ll… start small. Less rage? Varric, Aveline, Fenris, Bethany, Merrill, Isabella, Sebastian, Tallis, and Dog. Oh, and that bloody git Anders and his ride-along Justice. Those are all of Hawke’s companions. Not necessarily in chronological order, and it’s possible for Hawke not to get all of them. Hawke has issues with doing things in set orders or patterns.”

 

“That isn’t proof. That’s speculation on something you could rig or guess at.”

 

“… Your real name is Leto.” I am not ashamed to say I screamed when Fenris jumped the furniture to press his hand against my chest. Not through my chest, but the cold metal pricked at my skin and I could feel the warm tingle of lyrium through my shirt. Obviously I’m not dead, or you wouldn’t have this letter, but at the time it was the most terrifying moment of my life. Super glad I didn’t wet myself. “Oh fuck- You promised! Oh God don’t kill me, I don’t work with magisters, oh God-“

 

“Stop.” When Fenris tells you to stop, and his hand is remotely near your vital organs, you stop everything. In my case, I shut up quick and in a hurry, all of my world focused on the feeling of his hand on my heart and my body shaking uncontrollably. On anyone else this would be vaguely personal on a mildly intimate level. Fenris though? It’s a promise of murder most painful. “That’s proof. Keep going.”

 

“Oh fuck me. You’ve got a sister. I don’t remember her name. You can’t read, which if you don’t kill me I can help with that because fuck the magisters and slave policies. Danarius made you compete for those tattoos in order to keep your mother and sister safe-“ Word vomit. That is what I did. One stream of words that just flows out of your mouth with only a passing consideration paid to the concept of breathing.

 

“You claim not to work for Danarius and that you come from a different world. Where what, our lives are nothing more than entertainment? Prove it, or I rip your heart out and damn the consequences.”

 

“Fuuuck okay, come on Lis you can do this. A body of minor details make up a whole. Think think thiiiiink. Okay! Top of my left arm there’s a tattoo. From another game, but fuck. Ok. Touch it. Notice how it’s smooth and oh so bright. Also note the details. Further note that I’ve had this tattoo for over five years.” Tattoos in Thedas are bumpy, random bits of scars and ink that comes from plants. The mark on my arm is crisp black, gray, and red. The colors are bright on an impossible level. Impossible for anything aside from lyrium. “It’s called a L’Cie brand. It’s used in a game to denote people who change the world or die trying. Oh shit fuck you literally could not care any less. I’m gonna die.”

 

Fenris has surprisingly soft fingers, and he was nice enough to not rip my shirt to get at my arm. “So you have an exceptional tattoo. That isn’t proof. Give me something else.” The ‘or you die’ portion went unsaid, and I damn near started contemplating what would happen if I hyperventilated with Fenris right there. I shook like a panicked rabbit as I tried so hard to come up with proof that couldn’t be denied or explained away.  So I dumped out my purse and put my glasses on.

 

Yup, I wear glasses. Not that you actually have those just lying around in Thedas. I tend to only wear them when I absolutely know that no one is around. While yes, sure, the healthier diet and lifestyle helped my vision somewhat, I still can’t see all that well. The further away from my face, the less likely I can see shit clearly. But my glasses and the contents of my purse are pretty good indicators of technology far beyond Thedas, and I tend to keep them all buried under potions to keep them safe. Thank God for battery charge packs and the batteries with which to do so, because I am pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to convince anyone of anything without the fancy benefit of my god machine.

 

“What’s it made of?”

 

“Plastic. Chemical compound made by man that replaces glass in some uses. Non-biodegradable. If I die, it is now your responsibility to burn these and toss them into the deepest and darkest pit in the ocean you can find. Don’t break this please, I’d like to keep it intact. Now smile asshole.”

 

Selfies saved my life. Anyone from my world will tell you how awkward that is. But instant pictures on my phone of Fenris and my faces kept me from dying. Also, I just want to put it on the record that there is no fucking WiFi here. What in the fresh hell kind of pisshole is Thedas that there is no goddamn WiFi? Yes, I really had Fenris buy me eight hundred apples and potatoes with the sole goal of charging my phone so my blasphemy machine would work. I take a lot of photos of shit for Fenris. But yes, Fenris very obviously did not kill me. But the relationship between Fenris and I is complicated and confusing from the outside looking in simply because Fenris knew my secret long before anyone else. It isn’t because he’s a former slave or that I’m a thrall, or because he puts up with my terrible crush, or whatever complex and completely inappropriate theory Isabella has going.

 

“You made yourself Hawke’s slave and now Hawke has let you go. But you’re a woman stolen from your home through the Fade that happens to know parts of our collective future and now has nowhere to go. And you don’t want the Chantry involved.”

 

“Basically, yes. I’d rather be a slave than be shipped back to Fereldan to face the Blight.”

 

“Would you not have needed to stay in Fereldan to undo the magic that brought you here?” To be honest, I hadn’t considered that as a thing until after Fenris had brought it up in that dry way of his. The bell in a jar sound came back full force and I had to cradle my head between my knees as I tried to breathe. “Yes. Common sense says yes.”

 

“Then why did you leave?” This is a really fucking good question that keeps me up at night now. Why did I do that? I knew what would happen. So why did I go left instead of right?

 

This is a good question, all things considering. “Lothering burned. If I had run the other way, I would have ended up with the Wardens, dealing with Darkspawn and Archdemons. If I had survived. I think I knew that on a subconscious level.”

 

“Hm. Could you find Danarius if you tried?”

 

“Maybe. A certain set of conditions have to be met first, but I should be able to give you a warning at least. So long as someone keeps me up to date. I’m not really… in Hawke’s good graces right about now.”

 

“It isn’t much, but you’re welcome to stay here.”

 

Fenris is a nicely focused soul. As long as I help with Danarius (and yes, we really did hash this out) and stay the hell out of his way, he’ll let me pull up a corner of manor all to myself. I gave him my best barbarian smile, the one that made that smuggler piss himself the one time.  It makes Fenris smirk. I have since never done this anywhere near him. “I’ll even help squish Danarius’ minions for you. It’ll be fun. So. We doing this learning how to read thing or what?”

 

“We’ll see. This will be a mutually beneficial partnership then, Your Royal Highness.”

 

“Oh. No that has to stop. My name’s Elisabeth. My friends call me Lis. Let that nickname stop at Varric.” I’m sure as shit not telling him that when he calls me that or Princess it gives me the warm tingles. I grew up on fairy tales with dashing knights and pretty princesses, so it’s kind of nice when directed at me. But I’m not the end all be all, nor will I be the one to give Fenris a happy ending. That’s Hawke, or Isabella. I don’t belong here, and I’m not about to clear out a space for myself. “Lis. Call me Lis. Please God never with the Princess thing again. Now, can we do something about the pile of corpses at the fucking door before this place turns into illness waiting to happen?”


	3. Interlude (The First Batch)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in celebration of Valentine's Day (yup, I forgot about it) have an interlude! Of sorts. It's interesting doing interludes for things with such a set style.

Dearest Bethany,

I’m living with Fenris. Don’t tell your sister. We’ve come to a mutually beneficial arrangement where I help fix the manor so it’s liveable and keep guard while he traipses about with Marian, and he lets me stay here. I’ve taken up a side job, and enclosed is a recipe for biscuits that agree with Mabari and people alike.

Pet the dog for me and give Leandra my love.

Regards,

Allu

 

Bethany-

Fenris is a bloody git. Gamlen came by my work and tried to follow me home. Did you know he goes through a sovereign a night on prostitutes? Fenris may have tried to cut him in half after I told Gameln to shove it. If Gamlen complains to you about it, remind him that while Fenris is a git he is still my git. I will put my hammer here the sun doesn’t shine if Gamlen so much as breathes at Fenris in a threatening way.

Enclosed is a copy of Gamlen’s expenses at the Rose for the past fortnight.

Pet the dog and give Leandra my love.

Regards,

Allu

 

Fenris-

I don’t have words for this.

So sorry I got drunk.

So sorry I touched you.

Please don’t kill me.

Apologies,

Lis

 

Bethany-

Yes. I work at the brothel. How else did you think I got that expense copy? Don’t worry, I keep my clothes on. I do the Rose’s books and accounting on occasion and mainly just tend the bar. Fenris walks me to and from every day for safety’s sake. Stop worrying.

Enclosed is the sum total of damages incurred when Hawke and party flipped their shit. Please settle your account within a fortnight, lest I be forced to send the bill over to colelctions and Aveline.

Kindly inform Marian that she lost her vote on what I do with myself when she kicked me out and ended out previously contractual relationship.

As usual, all my love to the dog and Leandra.

Regards,

Allu

P.S. Please get Anders to look at Varric’s eye, I may have hit him harder than I meant to.

 

Varric-

Seriously? You tried to shoot me. I get that you were aiming for like, my arm for appearance’s sake. So for appearance’s sake I hit back. Idiot. Slap a slab of meat on that eye and go see Anders. Be glad I like you. I usually stick my thumb in there and actually squish down.

Also, you are ridiculously heavy.  You owe me a new set of spurs. Why the fuck is Bianca so sturdy? And why in the hell would you set a lady up against another lady. Come on, have some manners.

Allu

 

Marian Hawke, care of Bethany Hawke,

Stop it. Stop trying to get me to stop working at the Rose. You’ve broken three tables and caused me to lose half my pay to cover the damages. Fenris is not ‘letting’ me do anything. He’s not my keeper. I like bar tending. No, I won’t work at the Hanged Man. Why? Because all of you go there. It’s weird and stupid. No, you are not going to be able to monopolize me so I never take a client. Though thank you for putting me straight to the premium fees, I do appreciate it. Serendipity says hello and she misses you. Go visit her, not me. You’ll die of alcohol poisoning at this rate.

Fed up with this,

Allu

 

Fenris-

You can’t kill Hawke’s uncle.

He’s family. No.

Off to the Rose. Because I still have a job.

Love you!

Lis

 

Dearest Leandra Hawke, nee Amell-

Your daughters are hilarious. I know you said they miss me, but this is getting a bit ridiculous. Can’t they ever just come out and say it? My pay is getting a bit stretched by all this. Serendipity says that you are very welcome for the tea, and we’d be glad to have you at the Rose any time for tea. We’ve even gotten a new blend, a nice red leaf that you should enjoy. I’ll let you in the service door so no one thinks you’re here for anything… uncouth.

Love,

Allu

 

Fenris-

I’ve gone to the Rose. Back by morning.

Breakfast is on the table.

Love you!

Lis

 

Fenris-

Practice is good for you. I’m off to work.

I made you pancakes and sausage. Happy hunting with Hawke!

Love you!

Lis

 

Anders-

Could you please stop trying to creep Fenris out? I’ve only met you the once, but I know where you live. Why yes, I did ask Fenris to pass this on. Be nice to my friend or I’ll thump you. Ask Varric, I’m really good at it. Just because you are a mage does not give you a license to be an unmitigated asshole.

If you don’t know that word: Schluss dammit arschloch.

Keep this up and I will burn the heart out of you.

Vielen danke,

Alaudidae Passerina

 

Dear Aveline-

Anders is being creepy. He keeps inviting me to his clinic. I need a real adult. Please come be my supervision if I ever actually need to visit his clinic. I don’t feel safe with him for some reason.

Allu

 

Fenris-

If you see my spurs, let me know. I think I lost them while drunk.

Love you!

Lis

 

Varric-

YOU THRICE DAMNED SON OF A BILGESNIPE AND A CAMEL. GIVE THEM BACK. I SWEAR TO ALL THAT IS HOLY AND ALL THAT IS NOT I WILL END YOU.

Give me back my fucking spurs. I don’t care that I don’t have an actual horse to ride. That’s not what they’re for dumbass.

I mean it.

Princess

 

Fenris-

Went to work before you made it home.

Tell me about Anders when I get back.

Love you!

Lis

 

Guardswoman Aveline Vallen,

Kirkwall City Guard

I hereby swear that I was of sound mind and body and in complete control of my actions during the time of the incident in question. I take full and complete responsibility of said actions, with no ties to my family or to my noble masters. I accept the charges placed against me and will pay all fines as necessary.

Signed,

Alaudidae Mirafra Passerina

 

Fenris-

Aveline is here for the box under my bed.

I punched Anders for you. Go back to bed.

Love you!

Lis

 

Bethany-

I’m sorry that I’m not sorry for punching Anders so hard you had to set his nose. Totally worth the fine. Next time, when Anders says something insulting about grumpy elves in a language that apparently only two people in Kirkwall speak, I’ll wait until the guard is actually gone first before decking him. Still worth it. Kindly don’t let Fenris be alone alone with Anders for a while. They butt heads and Fenris is terrible at unbiased commentary, so if possible please get someone to give me an unbiased report on who started it before I end up putting Anders out of commission.

Thanks!

Allu

 

Varric-

Stop laughing. I know you’re still laughing. You took my fucking spurs. So I solved it in the ways of my people. Slapping rude mages is retarded. My family did not raise a spineless worm. So yes, I hit like a guy. Actually, it’s more like you men-things hit like me on a bad day. Wanna see what happens when I actually put the gauntlets on? Betcha I can make his door into splinters.

Princess

 

Anders-

No. I will not go to your clinic for a check-up. There’s nothing wrong with me. I didn’t hurt myself when I punched you in the face and I do not have a venereal disease. I don’t leave Kirkwall, so I have not been exposed to any monsters. There are not any actual outstanding reasons for me to go to your clinic, so no, I will not be going. I’ve never been to the Anderfels and so no, we will not be reminiscing about ‘the homeland’ any time soon. If you’re so lonely, go talk to someone who actually likes you.

Varric is fucking with you by the way, I’m not one of the people who likes you.

Regards,

Alaudidae Passerina

 

Fenris-

Punch Anders in his bitch face. Make it look like an accident.

The word you were trying to write earlier is written as: debauchery.

Don’t want to know why.

I’m at the Rose if you need anything.

Love you!

Lis

 

Varric-

Did you… did you take my spurs to a dwarven craftsman? Why are they so clean? I do not understand how you make this shit happen. Varric, what in the fuck? Did you get me a… you got me goggles. That matches my belts. That I can see through. Like actually see through. How the fuck. Why the fuck.

I sound ungrateful. I’m not. I didn’t tell anybody about my glasses-

Except for Fenris. Oh my sweet giddy aunt Sally he told you.

Thank you for the birthday present.

Princess

 

Fenris-

By the time you figure out how to read this, I will most likely not be around. There’s a lead on a blood mage who was near Lothering at the time of the Blight. I’m pretty sure I should be back in a couple of days. If I’m not back by the time you figure this letter out, go get Hawke.

My source says the mage was somewhere on the Wounded Coast. Wish me luck!

Love you!

Lis

 

Leandra-

I’m borrowing Dog! Off on an adventure, promise I’ll be safe.

Bye Mom!

Allu

 

Marian-

Give me a two day head start when Fenris comes to you.

Don’t ask. Bring Anders. I may actually need him.

I’ll explain later.

Allu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I'm going to need a side story to cover all the awkward incidents these Interludes are covering. Maybe I'll come back to them when this starts getting to be the riot of tragedy that is Dragon Age at its heart.


	4. To Varric (The Fourth Letter)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: here starts the weird I've been alluding (ha, puns) to. And the pieces of the puzzle begin to slot in place. Brace yourselves, this is going to be a weird one.

You want to know what I found in that cave? You really want to know, Varric?

 

Enough to haunt my nightmares and dreams for the rest of my life. And it will be a short life at the rate it is going. To be perfectly frank, I had never been happier to have anyone ignore my explicit instructions before in my life. By the time the four of you showed up, I’d been in that cave for three fucking days of terror and horror. Marian, Anders, Fenris, and you are my personal heroes. You came to get me, and you flat out murdered everything and everyone in the way. Three days is plenty long enough for a blood mage to do a lot of things to someone with no magic resistance to speak of. Surprise! We don’t have magic where I come from. I have the tiniest smidge of tolerance due to multiple exposures to Bethany’s magic, but nowhere near as much as any native Thedans. Blood magic and I do not get along.

 

Same as none of you need to be near me if I get ill. I will make you worse. I’ve had my immunizations. The pox makes me laugh.

 

I realize now that I should have just asked Hawke for help. Or Fenris. Or you. Hell, even Aveline would have helped. But I was an unmitigated idiot and thought I could investigate all on my own. It was supposed to be easy. Get in, find the mage, figure out what shit was going down, report back to Hawke, storm the castle, and reap the rewards.

 

I fucked up.

 

I fucked up a lot in a very short period of time. Working at the brothel gave me access to a nice and steady rumor mill of people trying to brag their way to better ‘service’ from the local prostitutes and other workers. Fun fact: Templars get really chatty when they’re in their cups, and I have this morally bankrupt standing principle to listen to them if only so I can laugh about it later. (Sometimes Fenris asks for the more interesting rumors and I’m more than happy to share. We used to laugh about it over Danarius’ stupid extensive collection of wine.)

 

And so I heard from a Templar that he had chased a blood mage from Lothering all the way to Kirkwall. You can see how this piqued my interest right fast and in a hurry. This Templar had a bloody scrap of cloth her claimed belonged to said mage after that mage had been cut and bolted. It was so easy to get him drunk and escorted out of the Rose while I kept the rag. I even begged off work by citing ‘womanly difficulties’ after being disturbed by this Templar on a spiritual level. And then I went and stole Hawke’s dog. Which, I don’t think holding up a rag and telling said dog that there was a side of bacon in it for him if he tracked the scent actually counts as stealing. Especially not if Leandra thought it was funny. I borrow Hawke’s dog often.

 

Why exactly is the dog literally named Dog? He’s a good doggy, and if no one gives him a name after this, then I will. Siegfried’s a good name. Or I could name him after my dogs back home.

 

So I grabbed my gear and raided some of Fenris’ supplies (because I am not a total idiot and I thought this was spectacular forethought), loaded up on bacon and headed out to the Wounded Coast. Dog and I had the grandest old time tracking that blood trail. Which, yes, in case none of you were aware, Dog is actually an excellent tracker. Who knew. And when I literally fell into the clutches of the blood mage, Dog made an excellent executive decision to go fetch his actual human to save the idiot human. I may have screamed ‘get Hawke’ on the way down and sped up the thought process.

 

I don’t know what the blood mage’s name was or is, nor do I know if he’s even alive. His minions and abominations (yay, I’ve met abominations and why is this my _life_ ) are very much dead courtesy of you four, and his sacrifices were dead long before you lot showed up. My memory of this three day span is a bit spotty, but for the record I will try my best to explain what you missed that I didn’t tell you about.

 

On the first day he took my stuff. All of it, right down to my skivvies. And then he started killing people. I stopped counting after the third on, because how he did it made me try really hard to pretend I was anywhere but in that cave. I thought I was next, and I tried so hard to fight back. He killed them, and then he drained their blood into this big metal tub covered in glittering blue dust. I know now that dust was lyrium. Not that it makes for much comfort in the night. When the tub was halfway full he made me climb in and lay down in the blood and lyrium, and then he kept right on killing people until the tub was full.

 

Have you ever watched the life literally drain out of a child’s eyes as they blood to death on you? How about their mother? Their siblings? Their friends? Ever tried to keep yourself afloat in blood while trying not to get any in your mouth or drown? I have. There’s a reason why I can’t stand the sight of blood anymore, why I can’t walk by the butcher without throwing up.

 

I watched them all die.

 

So many people died. I couldn’t keep screaming for help. I just went… numb. I couldn’t hold on to the sides of the tub, the blood and lyrium made it equal parts slippery and burning. And the blood I drowned in wasn’t any better. It burned like fire and sang like the sweetest choir. I don’t know how many people he killed to fill up that tub; I just know it felt like an eternity. My world narrowed down to focus on nothing but my continued survival as the world dripped around me. At least the mage let me take some minor breaks to crouch long enough to rest against the sides. Breaks where he pricked me over and over again with the tip of his dagger until the blood on me was just as much mine as it was someone else’s. Breaks where all I knew was pain of so many kinds all at once. Aching and stinging, burning and freezing, the dull throb of the healing process and the sharp stab of more holes. And then he always made me lay back down.

 

On the second day someone hauled me out of the tub and laid me down on a pattern of blood on the floor. It may have been circles. I could not tell you for sure. Bit hard to focus, sorry. I tried. The blood mage waved his arms and did glowy magic shit, cut himself a few times and glowed some more. Apparently, my screaming agony wasn’t enough to count as success, because when he was done chanting I was hauled back into the tub. There was blood everywhere, crusted in places we don’t talk about.

 

Blood, blood, blood. I’m ashamed to say that after the second day I had forgotten anyone was supposed to look for me at some point. He was methodical as he opened up old scars, traced the edges of my tattoos until they were just as bloody as the rest of me, and then he sprinkled more lyrium in. Blood and lyrium. But I refused to be like Fenris. So I clung to my memories like a miser with gold.

 

On the third day, someone held me down in the tub until I started drowning. And when I stopped struggling, they pulled me out and whacked my chest until I coughed up more blood and lyrium. They did it twice more before you stuck a crossbow bolt in the man holding me down as I thrashed in the blood. I’m terribly thankful that none of you tried to kill me when I damn near exploded out of the tub and scrabbled my way out. I spent most of the fight focused on flopping on the ground like a fish and coughing up what felt like an unending stream of blood. Curiously, no lyrium. I wonder why. Coughed it, puked it, whatever it took I wanted that shit out of my body. No one was putting me back in, so I took advantage of it to try not to fall back into the puddle I was making or pass out so someone would put me back in. Everything at that point was nothing but blood and lyrium to me. What was puking it on myself going to hurt? My stomach acid had been watered down by, you guessed it, more blood and lyrium.

 

I don’t know where I got the strength to pull myself to my feet and scream at you four from. Honestly, I didn’t recognize any of you. I could hear you moving, and that tripped something in me that said you were dangerous. I was afraid you were going to hurt me. So I crouched on all fours and snarled even as I kept retching. Real attractive, I know.

 

“By the Ancestors- Princess?” I recognized you because of your coat you know, that and the ridiculous nickname. With all that blood in my hair that dripped down into my eyes, I couldn’t help but resort to sad whimpering growls (because it’s hard to give effective growls when one has stripped out one’s throat with screaming) and what little senses I had left. Varric, I would tell you to wash your coat more, but the reek of old ale and that musk that is you is strong enough to cut through the blood. It’s a nice coat. I did try to wave it off between the hacking and attempts to breathe, but apparently I was weaker than a day old kitten at that point. My mouth would open, but the only sounds that came out were gasping whines, so I stopped trying.

 

“I got you. Come on Princess, open up those pretty brown beauties of yours. Breathe. In and out. That’s a good girl. In and out.” You wasted some bit of cloth you won’t let me replace getting the blood out of your eyes. And I remember your face so well when I finally opened my eyes. You’re the only one who’s been honest with how I look now.

 

I remember the horror. Because my eyes are not really brown anymore, are they?

 

I remember you trying to rub my back and being so very gentle as I finally found the air to scream from the pain. Everything hurt. It wasn’t you. That bastard cut me to ribbons and let me soak like a cucumber in brine. I blacked out when you tried to move me, woke up flat on my back with your coat covering my modesty. “Hawke, there’s lyrium in that. We have to get it off her, before she goes mad.” Someone tried to hold my hand, and then there was a glow.

 

The lyrium sang, and I screamed for it to stop. Like a thousand discordant birds, chirping away.

 

“Clear off, I need space. Allu? Can you hear me? This will hurt.” I’m pretty sure it was Anders who tried to touch me, and I flopped away like a wriggling fish. Right out of your lap and onto the stone cave floor. Oddly, the stone was warmer than the metal tub, more reassuring as my eyes focused and unfocused. We have this thing called blood poisoning and diseases none of you have ever head of where I come from. And I’ve been vaccinated for some, deemed an active carrier for others. Like our version of the common cold. Or the flu.

 

Oh my God, we have entire stretches of history where we killed people by sending them blankets that had been used by people actively ill with viruses they had never been exposed to. And here was me, bleeding literally from every orifice and then some. I wanted this blood off, but holy shit I may have almost killed all of you just by lying there and letting you touch me. Anders had the bright idea of trying to heave me to my feet with the other end of his staff, because of course the healer can deal with irrational paranoia. The more I moved, the easier it was to move, until I had made it to my feet and let your coat fall off without a single fucking care in the world. The blood had to go, before it got any worse than it already was. I didn’t care that I had given everyone in that room quite the eyeful.

 

 The blood had to go. I needed out of this cave. Blood, blood, blood, and lyrium singing in my head. I wanted daylight with a burning passion and I had no problem with crawling out of the damn cave if I had to.

 

You got in my way, I remember that much. “Hang on a minute, Princess. Okay, no touching. Just no teeth, all right? It’s a bit cold outside. Not stopping you, calm down. Maker that’s terrifying.” I didn’t know what was going on. Not that that’s an excuse really, but it does explain why I damn near tried to rip your head off before I tripped on my own unsteady legs. “I’m just going to put this coat on your shoulders and we’re going to go for a nice walk outside. We can go roll in the grass if that’s what you need.” Rolling in the grass sounded like the best idea ever when you brought it up, so I put up with the coat requirement. Said coat was going to come right off, as the blood was starting to dry and the flakes were itchy. Grass was like the animal kingdom’s scrub brush, and at that point I was not picky. Lyrium and blood are not in fact pleasant things to have on one’s skin. I was a woman on a mission, and that mission was to scour my person until everything stopped burning.

 

It wasn’t so bad to deal with when it was just you and Anders. You’re like… the uncle I never had from a dwarven mother and Anders is a healer who has seen damn near anything. For some reason, the copious amount of skin I had on display did not actual bother me until Fenris and Marian walked in the room. I may have set a speed record for traumatized people in crawling behind another living being and trying one’s best to become one with the rock. Yeah. Fenris and blood magic in the same sentence as my person, not a good thought on any day. He may be the prettiest asshole I have ever called my friend (we are friends, I just drink all his wine and bitch about feet on the furniture while he does the eyebrow thing and tells me I’m full of shit in the nicest ways possible), but he is the twitchiest member of Hawke’s retinue and he was just as bloody in that moment as I was.

 

Fenris in murder-all-the-things mode is summarily terrifying and attractive as hell. And there I was, damn near naked in front of the guy I lived with and had a crush the size of Orlais on. Nope, nope, nope, not having it. So I hid behind you, tried to keep my blood person from clinging to you even as my teeth started chattering. “Oho. Princess might need you to turn around Broody.” Yes, yes I did. So much yes.

 

“What’s wrong with her?” I could practically hear the frown in his voice. On any other day I’d be over the moon, as that meant that Fenris actually cared about my person. But my stomach grumbled and I had to worry about retching up more blood somewhere behind you. It took a bit, but eventually I got to the point of dry heaving and tried to recollect myself. And then your coat was gone and I was shockingly wet and cold for one long gasping moment.

 

Did you know that Hawke has a magical ability to find buckets and fill them with water? Did you know she has learned how to press gang people into bucket lines? Because I did not.

 

But I was clean, and your coat was back even as warm fingers pulled at my chin. “She’s not an abomination. No demons. There’s… a touch of lyrium in her body, but she should be fine.” Anders has the best bedside manner. No, really. I regret never visiting him in his clinic. Also, he makes my lyrium sing. Well, maybe it’s Justice. Yes, I do in fact know about Justice. I like him much better than Anders.

 

And then I was moving, aside from the unending shivering, held against metal in someone’s arms. The water had turned the floor to mud, and someone had apparently decided I didn’t need to walk anymore. Deeply okay with that, as my fight or flight reflex had tapered out into sheer exhaustion and I was more worried about who in God’s name I was bleeding on at the moment. “This is why you don’t go off hunting blood mages by yourself.” I was too tired to flip Hawke off, and I’m pretty sure I was taking this whole ordeal much better than I should have been. Also, the fact that her voice came from in front of me meant that this could not possibly be Marian carrying me. So, who the fuck was it?

 

Everything was foggy and clear at the same time, like my vision was doubling over with bright colors and muted sounds that wavered in place as I stared straight ahead. It was all so… perfect. But who could be carrying me? I mean shit, the list of people who care enough about my broke ass to cart me off bridal style out of a cave is astoundingly small. Like, really small.

 

“Da-Daddy?” It couldn’t be anyone else. My parents are the only ones who care enough to pull me out of shit like that.

 

“Shit. Fenris, put her down.” I do not understand why Marian had to tell Fenris to put me down. Fenris wasn’t the one carrying me out of the damn cave. My memory’s pretty good for this. I mean, I remembered all this shit pretty well. My dad was there. And then he was gone.

 

“Allu, look at me. He’s not real. It’s the demons.”

 

Also, who the fuck told Fenris it was acceptable to call people’s parents demons. The actual fuck is with that. Someone got me water, and it was cold enough to burn on the way down. Little sips, little choking gasps of air as I cleared out my throat and tried to keep my head from moving around all on its own. I saw my dad on the way back to the blood and lyrium, beckoning me back and why was someone taking me away from that. I don’t remember why my face was so warm and why I could see nothing but Fenris’ beautiful green eyes. I don’t look at him because he’s so pretty, but he was so close I could taste theinsanity. “Not real. None of this is real.”

 

“Fasta vass. Proof then. You sign all your letters to me with ‘love you’ and your real name. You drink two hundred year old wine and forget to eat anything, and then you try teaching me how to play cards. Which you are terrible at. Too many tells.” Everything was burning, and I couldn’t breathe enough to scream. The lyrium was screaming for me.

 

Anders sounded like he was in a bell, made worse by the birds someone let in and the click-clack of bone beaks chattering. “Fenris, keep her talking. Varric and Hawke, see if you can find her something to wear that’s not Varric’s coat.”

 

Fenris sounded so pissed off, like Anders had done something personally offensive aside from being a mage who let a spirit timeshare his body. “Her lips are turning blue, mage. What am I supposed to get her talking about?”

 

“Blue, blue, blue. Sky, navy, pthalo. Kaiju blue and Pacific Rim. Blueberries and blackberries, edelweiss. Corrupted. Error, blue screen of death and error four oh four. An error has been found on your operating system, press F3 to factory reset. Not real. So cold. Sleep now.” I remember the lyrium trip all too well. As best as I can tell, it was an adrenaline high that had kept the worst effects of it at bay, somewhere between the terror and the rage keeping my heart beating triple time. I didn’t want to lose myself, and so I gave the lyrium something else to take. I don’t know what I gave it. Somehow I ended up kneeling on the ground with Fenris and Anders, propped up against the wall with Anders at my back and Fenris holding my face. They got me to button up your coat, which turned out to be big enough for me to press my knees to my chest under and still be covered.

 

They told me to keep talking, so I did while they gave me water and I tried not to pass back into the darkness by rocking back and forth. I’m perfectly aware of the shit that came out of my mouth while you and Hawke were off tracking down something in that terribly large cave that would get me covered and warm.

 

_Ia! Ia! Cthulhu fhtagn!_

_Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah’nagl fhtagn._

_That is not dead which can eternal lie,_

_And with strange aeons even death may die._

_The Old Ones were, the Old Ones are, and the Old Ones shall be. Not in the spaces we know, but between them, they walk serene and primal, undimensioned and to us unseen. Yog-Sothoth knows the gate. Yog-Sothoth is the gate. Yog-Sothoth is the key and guardian of the gate. Past, present, future, all are one in Yog-Sothoth. He knows where the Old Ones broke through of old, and where They shall break through again._

_Hail! Hail! Cthulhu lies dreaming!_

_In his house at R’lyeh dead Cthulhu lies dreaming._

I did what I was asked to do: I kept talking. I made sure I was me no matter what, so I recited parts of the _Necronomicon_. Really. The fact that I remember even part of the Yog-Sothoth chant is impressive. So yes, it came with rocking back and forth and my hands clamped on my ears as the lyrium itched and burned. “Mage, fix her,” went the grumpy one even as the sparkling one went “the lyrium has to run its course.”

 

Three days and three nights, and now there’s lyrium in the blood. Water, water everywhere and nary a drop to drink. He wants to rip a hole in the Fade, anchor it to the living and focus the gap beyond. I wonder if the Black City is name R’lyeh and if Cthulhu will drive me mad upon his waking. I wonder if I’ve become Elizabeth Bathory, bathing in the blood of virgins to keep myself young. Vampire, monster, I don’t care. I remember you running in with a shout and I started so badly I scratched my face on Fenris’ gauntlets. I tasted blood and then I started to cry.

 

“Found her kit! Princess, you have way too many clothes. Really heavy- Broody is this really the best time to be mooning over her face? I know she’s pretty, but kid doesn’t need that in her life right about now.” Bless you, you matchmaking bastard. Jump in a fire and roll until it stops hurting. The birds liked you, chirping away and singing crescendo. You make a nice deep counterpoint. You , Fenris, and Justice when Anders ever bothers to let the poor thing get some air. “Mm, not a kid. You’re not my real dad, you can’t tell me what to do. He’s pretty.” Talking got better after recitation, but my body still felt like too much melted gelatin. My tongue tripped over syllables and I couldn’t help but laugh at how my vowels and consonants hissed out.

 

“Yes. He’s uh. Pretty. Don’t laugh Blondie, just don’t. Princess, put some damn clothes on. This is getting painful.”

 

“Mmkay. Ladies don’t get nekkid in public. Where’s my shirt?”

 

Marian was laughing when she shooed you all away. “Right. You three clear out. When Allu’s back to normal she’s going to be embarrassed enough without knowing her pretty Fenris saw her naked.” What amuses me the most about this bad trip to end all trips is that all three of you went and left me alone with Hawke like we hadn’t been having the most hilarious passive-aggressive fight ever. She had to heave me to my feet and watch me wobble for a moment. I threw up again on the way up, a thin line of nothing but spit and a trace of blood. I don’t like tripping on lyrium. Never again. Marian sighed as she got me to step into my boots one at a time. She had to damn near dress me herself, and she kept sighing as she did it. My armor was not a thing that was happening at all, until she realized that the metal bits in my corset and armor were starting to keep me from collapsing into a puddle at her feet.

 

I held out a hand and wiggled my fingers at her, and she shook her head. “No, you can’t have your hammer back. But, come here you.” Hawke gives nice hugs, even to noodle people like I was at that moment. She was careful not to cling too tightly, not when my body was still aching. I think Anders had been healing me with his hug before. If one could call being my personal backrest to be a hug. He did put his arms around me? Maybe it counts? Or at least I had started clotting at some point, as I wasn’t bleeding all over everything. “You scared me, Lark. Even if you can’t tell me this secret reason of yours for blood mage hunting, at least wait until I can go with you before you go chasing trails.” She put my arm over her shoulder and helped me stagger out of the cave even as my feet started to fail me.

 

Fenris gave me about two minutes to enjoy the shine of the sun on my skin before he tapped his fingers against my forehead. “Are you back now?”

 

I did try. I’ve been trying every day since then. The words don’t come out right when I say them anymore, which is why you have all these nice letters scattered about your abode. I mean to say one thing, and it comes out of my mouth as something completely different. Which, I can write it down just fine, but I can’t read out loud anymore. I mean to say one thing and I end up saying something random. The words go where they want to now. I’m counting it as the price I paid to the lyrium, making my mind spiral down to madness. Words of my own break in my head like sunlight, like water and rain drowning in the sounds of violins and unending birdsong. For the longest time I ended up clapping my hand to my mouth as the ringing of my own thoughts made me sick. Stringing thoughts together is harder than it seems.

 

I meant to say ‘yes’. What came out of my mouth was ‘bell’. What’s been coming out of my mouth since I got out of that tub has been the completely wrong thing. If I don’t think about it, if I use someone else’s words for instance, I do just the hell fine. Quoting works. Words in an order all my own? Not so much. So I meant to say yes, came out as bell, which made me try to say no, which then came out of my mouth as parrot. I have better luck not using the common tongues of Thedas. At least then no one knows how badly I fucked up. So yes, I started crying. I threw up, and then I kept right on crying. It’s a good fucking thing I started teaching Fenris how to read, or I’d never be able to get shit done in my own home.

 

Anders tried to heal me with his magic, but the lyrium made my nose and mouth burn like fire. It seeped in through my ears and lodged in my brain, and now I can hear the lyrium sing. It’s very distracting at times and tends to make finding the words all that much harder. File association has failed, the memory has fragmented. Fenris lost his name and himself to the lyrium. I paid the price in shutting my mind off from the world. It took me days and days to write these letters you know. I’ve done what I had to in order to make this work. Appreciate it. There’s an error in the syntax of my mind that makes my head ache from the music of a world that isn’t mine, a warm fuzziness that layers things in doubles. It’s broken, yes, but my mind is still good. I can still fight, but everything I say comes out as disjointed metaphors and things that make no sense in Thedas. I make Sandal look like a fucking genius. Which, I can actually converse with Sandal. He’s pretty awesome, when you can get him to shut up about formula ratios.

 

There was a choice that had been made for me as I held my head to stop the ringing and stared at the clouds. The four of you had apparently decided that I needed to get as far away from this cave as possible, but my body tumbled every fourth step from exhaustion. I was running on fumes at that point, but my pride rebelled at the offer to be carried back to Kirkwall. Desperation and a moment of seething rage made something inside me settle with a bell toll, the world focused like snapping a bowstring, and I tasted blood on my tongue. You said I glowed then, like I did when you tried to touch me the first time in the cave, in dusted lyrium that had settled in my skin in patterns of whips and smatterings of stars and constellations. I trailed energy like phantom white. But all I knew was thrumming and an ache that started somewhere in my chest and went thumping in time with my heartbeat. But I could move, and so no one needed to carry me. It was a sound bit of logic, one that did not go over well with either Anders or Fenris. Surprise, they agreed on something.

 

“Fasta vass woman. It is not weakness to accept help when you need it.” I like it when he talks Tevene to me normally; it’s surprisingly lyrical when he does it. Pissed off Fenris is an also heart-stopping level of terror-inducing, so when he gets that tone I tend to stop moving and pretend to be a spot on the wall. He doesn’t care about spots on the walls.

 

But the words were coming out wrong, so my old standby of growling with my teeth bared seemed to be my standby. “Whoa now. Calm down, Princess. Put the teeth up. We talked about this.”

 

“Oh like fuck. Oh, hey, this works. Why does this work. The mind rebels at stagnation. Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbably must be the truth.” And then I threw up again. I spent a lot of time throwing up after talking for a while as the lyrium settled.

 

“You know, if we ever needed proof that Allu needs to get out more, this would be it.”

 

I would have laughed at Hawke, because she is actually funny when she tries. But the lyrium came rushing back in the choir of songs and I think I blacked out for a moment. The birdsong comes back in a double-time repeat of soprano arias and staccato bass, and I ended up dry heaving from the shock.

 

“Maker’s breath. Hold this.” He waited for me to be done before crouching in front of me, arms backward and fingers wiggling. I have enough nieces and nephews to have recognized the universal sign for a piggy-back ride. But from Anders? Bit much for my brain on a good day. “Fasta vass, mage.” I don’t know why parroting Fenris makes Marian laugh so hard, but it at least startled a chuckle out of Fenris so there is that. Anders wiggled his fingers at me some more and I growled as I tugged on the end of my braid.

 

“Allu you cannot be that heavy. You’re tiny.” Well fuck you very much Anders. Thank you for making me feel so attractive. I hope I put your back out. And so I climbed on his back and he wrapped his arms around my knees and got to his feet. I slid his staff in to the gap between my stomach and his back, wove my arms around his neck, and hoped he looked as stupid as I felt. And so we made our way back to Kirkwall, with my drowsing person and hammer being passed around like so much baggage.

 

I woke up in Anders’ clinic, disoriented and dry mouthed even as my stomach griped for sustenance. My bones ached and I felt like I could sleep for a week. I could probably have eaten a horse at that point with no complaint, but what I got was broth and a bird bath. A supervised bird bath. Because I have always wanted Anders to see all of me naked. Joy. Then I got broth and a hearty piece of bread, with Anders muttering about how very fucked I was. I slept an awful lot when I got back. On the third day back in Kirkwall, I had a sandwich soaked in broth and actual stew for dinner. Really runny stew, but it had actual vegetables (I think) so that counted as hearty down in Darktown. Anders was very careful to keep me from looking at my body, and that sort of thing sends up all sorts of signals to us paranoid folks.

 

The lyrium had sunken into all the cuts and scrapes that had been carved into my person and stayed there while I tried to heal in that pool of blood. I had dashes and lines of lyrium glowing faint silver-blue in odd places, and Anders tried so hard not to let me see. Mirror, mirror, on the wall. Who’s the fairest of them all? Sure as shit ain’t me anymore. I ended up using the shiny back of my greaves, angled just right and polished mirror bright. And then I cried. I cried a lot.

 

There are twin lines from the inner corners of my eyes where I had scratched them with my gauntlets a few weeks before that glow. All my scars glow. The bastard literally went looking for my scars to open them back up and let the lyrium in. Every scar from bug bites, every little shred has a glow. My entire motley collection of tattoos glows, from the little heart on the inside of my right wrist to the brand on my left arm and all the way back to the runes on my back. Will o’ the Wisp indeed. There’s a spot in the middle of my lip from where I bit it while thrashing around and flecks of lyrium dancing in my irises. My now shockingly abnormal irises, because there may be more lyrium in there than stars in the sky.  I looked like somebody had just gone ‘oh we like stars’ and scribbled constellations all over my body. And there, dead center on my chest, Fehu glowed. So no, I did not take it calmly at all. Because who the hell would take waking up to being a fucking connect the dots puzzle well?

 

I walked myself out of Anders’ clinic in the brief quiet of when he finally went to sleep. And no, I didn’t go home. I went straight to the Rose, and damn near prostrated myself before my boss. Because I wanted my job back. Which is kind of hard to express when oh, I don’t know, _you can’t fucking talk worth a damn_. Thankfully, she saw my suffering as the best possible silver lining to a perpetual storm cloud (after lots of paper, lots and lots of notes). My lyrium scars and broken mind would mark me as forever exotic. Fenris has tattoos, I have ritualized scars. Because, ta, I literally had the skin flayed off me in pretty patterns. I don’t recommend it. Ever. But it made me attractive for as long as I could keep it up. My boss got me a bath and a good scrub down, my hair washed and brushed clean. Getting my hair clean again took an awful lot of hot water and scrubbing where we realized that asshole had carved up my scalp too. There are entire streaks of white through my hair, just as much white as there is brown and blonde, and Serendipity couldn’t help but braid so the streaks were visible. I let her dress me for me these days, pretty blue dress and slippers that are as far away from my norm as usual.

 

I took a few days for the pain to die down and normal function to be restored (as much as it could be). And then I went to work. Drifting about being mysterious and trying to do my job until someone forked over two sovereigns. Then I did my new job and let strange men (and sometimes women) touch my lyrium. Templars really, I mean really, like my lyrium. So do people who like to fancy themselves joining the Magisterium. Also apostates and dwarves. Dwarves can hear it hum, and sometimes they ask me to sing to my lyrium. Weird, but for a half cut of two sovereigns I’ll put up with it.

 

I drink a lot of anti-pregnancy tea and spend a lot of time letting people dress me to accentuate my glow. But I don’t actually care. I have all the pampering and attention I could stand and more. And Templars. Templars don’t really ask me to talk much (most of my clientele could give a rat’s ass if I can speak), which is nice. There’s one Templar who’s very sweet. I can’t remember his name for the life of me, but he brings me paper and reads me stories while he puts his head in my lap. But for the most part, Templars like talking to me and bragging about their latest accomplishments before they touch my lyrium and toss me on the bed. I’m very small compared to the vast majority of my clientele and I never talk, but they’re all usually very gentle with my broken person.

 

Fenris thinks the Rose is disgusting. He doesn’t like what I’m doing to myself, and I don’t blame him. But, there’s an awful lot of gossip and pillow talk to be had in brothels, and I want that mage.

 

I want his head on a pike and his guts for garters. I want to flay the skin of his body and see how he likes it.

 

I want him and all the secrets he shouldn’t know to die a painful, screaming, and undignified death.

 

Sometimes I can’t decide if I want him to send me home first and damn the consequences. But I owe you all for everything you’ve done, so that changes things. I’ve been sending the lion’s share of my money to Leandra, who has in turn been hoarding it all. No matter what I do, she refuses to accept my donations to restoring the Amell name to its former glory. Leandra doesn’t like what I’m doing either. No one Hawke associates with on a regular basis likes what I’m doing. But I no longer care about what happens to my body anymore; it stopped being mine the moment a blood mage decided to use it as his personal focus device. Anders says healing is more effective on my body now there’s lyrium literally engraved into my system, so fixing all the various ills that plague prostitutes is that much easier on me.

 

I’ve met Justice. For a spirit, he’s a decent sort. He purrs when you pet him just right. Feel free to rub that in Anders’ smug face. His passenger gets to lay his head on my heart and listen to the double thump of my heart and lyrium in tandem.

 

Justice understands my need for vengeance all too easily. I have been wronged in the worst possible way, and that makes him burn. Stolen away by a thief with magic, and now that thief has broken my mind to shining pieces. I really do like Justice, and I don’t mind letting him touch my lyrium. Anders thinks it’s embarrassing how I hum for the spirit in his body. But Anders and Justice are two different minds stuck in the same body. They have different needs as man and spirit. Kindly remember the difference Varric, otherwise I think Fen’Harel might actually try and drop you off a building. Love them, but remember that they are different. Justice is so very alone, save for Anders, and if my lyrium makes it better than so be it.

 

A little bit of kindness costs nothing, and will win you everything.


	5. Interlude (The Second Batch)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short interlude is short. We will be returning to the regularly scheduled craziness next week.

Marian-

There’s a smuggled shipment of lyrium coming for the Templars. It will be on the second pier of the docks after midnight. Snatch it before the Templars get it, and no one will know the wiser. It’s the nearly raw kind that Templars like so much, so be careful. Athenril will pay pretty well for it before she charges the Templars out the nose for it.

Happy hunting!

Allu

 

Bethany-

Gamlen’s been nosing around the Rose again. He keeps trying to get them to open a tab under my name for himself, and I will not allow it. Kindly advise him that he is not my uncle and he will not be riding my coat tails.

Allu

 

Fenris-

I know. You hate this. So do I.

There’s a Tevinter mercenary who comes every third day. He says he knows Danarius.

He’s looking for you. Oblige him.

Love you!

Lis

 

Dearest Isabela,

It was such a pleasure to make your acquaintance last evening. I’m glad you haven’t been dissuaded from visiting me in my, as you called it, gilded cage. Your reputation precedes you, Captain, but you’ll find no quarrel with any of the clientele of the Blooming Rose. Though sadly, I must ask that you keep your dealings to outside of my cage’s bars if you’d be so kind.

I would so hate to see our relationship end so early.

Warmest Regards,

Lark of the Rose

 

Bartrand, dearest mine,

The Deep Roads hold untold danger as well as riches. Beware, darling, for trust is a currency that cannot be bought with gold. There are things that lie in the darkness that will try to take your mind as well as your immortal soul. Guard them both well. I shall think of you with great longing fondness, as your eventual absence shall tear my heart asunder. Tread carefully.

Affectionately,

Lark of the Rose

 

Anders-

Get off your moping ass and come get this staff. Do you know how much of a pain it is to commission something for someone who never comes to get it because they’re too busying crying about how sorry their life is? Ass, go get the stupid staff and shut up. It’s a down payment, not a gift. You better keep Hawke alive or there will be hell to pay. I can and will take it out of your hide, you arrogant sod.

Justice-

Kiss kiss. I put lyrium in his staff, and just a little bit of mine on the ribbon. It’s not a perfect harmony, but it should sing nicely in the dark. Watch your essence, friend, there lies temptation in the dark. You owe me a melody when you get back.

Sincerely,

Allu

 

Varric-

Enclosed are three volumes of the trashiest novel series that has ever made the rounds of the Rose. Please don’t think about me when you read it. I’d die. Second hand embarrassment is a thing.

Be careful Varric. No, really. Be careful. Shiny red things are actually bad for you. Unless you know exactly what something is, don’t take it home. You will know what I’m talking about when you see it. I will not be impressed with you if you take it home.

If your first thought is ‘its evil’ then it _PROBABLY IS_.

You’ll thank me later.

Be safe,

Princess

 

One wooden box worth of potions. Lyrium and general ‘put your ass back together’. I’ve negotiated with Bartram to leave enough space on the list for a case of my napalm special. Use it. All you have to do is pop the top, stick the wick in, light the match (it’s the little wooden stick with red shit at the end), and throw it at the problem. Think of it like a smoke bomb, just with spreading fire. Do not drink it. Do not sniff it. It will kill you.

Keep it away from Anders or any other mage in this madness. Do not, for the love of whatever you hold sacred, forget to toss it after you light it.

It will cause shrapnel damage. Not that shrapnel is a thing here. Fuck, look, there are bits of metal in it that will explode and burn you. Stay out of the way of the fire. Fire bad.

Just light it, toss it, and duck. You should be fine.

Allu

 

Fenris-

 ~~Ich liebe dich.~~ Stay safe. ~~Don’t leave me alone.~~

 ~~Please don’t go.~~ ~~You’re the only thing keeping me sane.~~

Lis

 

Bethany-

You can be pissed off all you like that Marian’s not taking you into the Deep Roads. I for one feel better knowing someone’s actually going to be taking care of Leandra while Marian’s off being an unmitigated idiot in a cave. Bad things happen in caves. Why am I the only one who notices these things?

Anyway. We’re going to have to work double time to keep this reputation or ours alive.

Meet you at the Hanged Man tonight. There’s someone you should probably meet.

Allu

 

Oh voluptuous pirate queen who makes me all a-quiver,

I think it’s time you met one of my sisters. I think you’ll like her. Just keep hands to yourself, as she doesn’t necessarily enjoy our kind of company. I never asked to be fair.

I have information of a most sensitive nature on a shipment that could be well worth your interest.

Lark of the Rose

 

Aveline-

I have no excuse. I’ve missed our meetings for weeks now. But, I’m making amends for my absence.

Enclosed is a list of major drop-offs and time tables for various smuggling and more distasteful activities in Kirkwall. None of them are Coterie, so I’m perfectly safe to hand them off to you.

Make of it what you will, Captain.

Regards,

Allu

 

Leandra,

I’m glad you don’t hate me for what I’ve done to you and yours. Even better, I am perfectly fine working in the Blooming Rose. I know, not something you want to be involved with. But it makes for a good network. In the spirit of the gratitude I hold towards your family, I will share some of that information with you. Free of charge.

Firstly when the white-lilies begin to bloom in red, be careful of whom you follow into dark corners.

Secondly, remember that I am always on the side of the Hawkes.

Thirdly, I am sorry. Some evils must be committed to see you all safe to the other side.

Love,

Allu

 

Greetings!

I hear you’ve taken up an alliance with the Hawkes. Thus, in the absence of my Meister, it falls to me to ensure your safety and happiness within the walls of Kirkwall.

This gift basket contains a selection of carefully chosen goodies.

Apostates are not welcomed in Kirkwall. This isn’t like being with your clan, the Templars will come for you if you make waves in this pond.

I will save you once and only once from the Circle. That will be the end of our dealings together, and I will wash my hands of you.

Do. Not. Get. Caught.

You’re sweet, and I would hate to have to explain to Marian how I lost her Dalish friend while she was in a cave.

Welcome to Kirkwall.

Lark

 

Isabela,

Why do men think the way to a woman’s heart is clothes? I don’t understand this. I’ve a low profile client with a penchant for blindfolds and silk. He likes to hit women. And by hit women, I do not mean in the nice kind of way that gets the blood flowing and leads to the darker aspects of sexual pleasures. He’s got a fat wallet though, and so the Coterie are allowing it.

I would consider it a personal favor if he were to come to an unfortunate conclusion in a dark alley somewhere.

He choked Sabina so hard that she almost died. In front of her son.

And then he called for a whip.

I will not have this sort of shit in my cage.

Regards,

Lark of the Rose

 

Guard-Captain Aveline,

There is a distressing tendency amongst the clientele of the Blooming Rose to think they can harm the prostitutes and get away with it.

Enclosed is a list of miscreants and their crimes, with corresponding written testimony by at least two witnesses in each instance.

If they are not dealt with legally, they will be dealt with by the Coterie.

Regards,

Lark of the Rose

 

Aveline-

Off the record, these men have starting physically damaging the prostitutes (male and female) to the point of lasting damage. Anders is still in the Deep Roads. We can’t afford to go to the Circle.

Either imprison them for their crimes or I’m going to make sure they all die painfully.

Allu

 

Isabela,

Care to join me for a spot of hunting?

Seems some of the assholes have decided leaving Kirkwall will get them out of paying for their crimes.

I feel the need to put the fear of the Maker into some idiots.

Lark of the Rose

 

Merrill,

Honey, I did tell you to keep a low profile. Coming to the Blooming Rose on your own to try and meet me is not keeping a low profile. I was off on a business related trip, and thus missed you.

Next time, send a letter and actually wait for an answer. It’s much more efficient.

Do put the kettle on.

I’ll be by for tea.

Regards,

Lark of the Rose

 

Bethany,

Run.


	6. For Wicked Grace Alone (The last letter)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm running out of buffer oh dear. Also, look! New character! Except really not! Behold, more of Lis failing at the concept of actual relationships and needing to learn how to actually communicate with a team of people. So, you know, business as usual.

I found the blood mage while you were in the Deep Roads. Or, it would be more accurate to say he found me. He paid for the pleasure of my company for the evening and sat at my little nook like he owned the place. The blood mage is a creep, all slicked back hair and emotionless eyes. My lyrium doesn’t like him, whined sharp and desperate even as I tried not to let it shine. I learned how to make it light up like the stars in the night sky, and it’s remarkably soothing in the moon light.

 

“Hello dearest. Enjoying my present?” His voice is like oil, a snake that slides down your skin and makes you shiver. I didn’t call for help. In this nest of Templars, I was as safe as I could be from the worst of his magic. Or at least, I hoped so. “We were so rudely interrupted last time. I didn’t get to finish. But you look lovely, my dear.” Creep. I had a choice at that moment, one I didn’t relish for the pain it caused every time. I could have kept silent, let the lyrium trap my words in my mind, or I could glow like Fenris does and find a sudden and sharp clarity. I chose to keep my glowing to a bare minimum.

 

So I chirped at him, a question and a warning all at once. Yes, really. While you were away that is the compromise Isabela taught me. Chirp if I don’t want to light up like a lyrium candle. Turns out exactly no one finds that intimidating. “Oh don’t be so angry at me, my heart couldn’t take it if you hated me so.” He drank my wine and presided over my room like my chair was his throne. “You spent far too much time with elves if you think birdsong is communication. But I have not come to speak of the _unfortunate_ company you keep, dearest.”

 

I inclined my head and did my best to imitate Fenris’ grumpy bossiness. The mage spread his arms wide and smiled, and even that expression made my skin crawl. “I’ve come to make amends. We didn’t get off to a very good start, now did we? You ran away from me, and I can forgive you for that. But the last? Did you summon your friends to kill mine or was that just chance? Ah, it doesn’t matter. We shall let bygones be bygones.” How fucking magnanimous of this douchebag. He took another sip of wine while I glared at him (I was trying to see if I could light him on fire with my eyes, and sadly I cannot). When he smiled again it was with a twisted sort of indulgence. “And how are you enjoying this side of the Veil?”

 

So, on a list of things you should probably have figured out by now, that would be secret number one. I’m not from Thedas. Not even remotely. I’m from way far on the other side of the Fade. Judging by what I know and have seen of the Fade, most likely more towards the Void and the Black City direction. The only one I told was Fenris. For fuck’s sake, I didn’t start writing these damn long motherfucking letters to you until after this. I mean, up until this moment I wasn’t even remotely important to the grand scheme of things. Technically I’m still not really important, and I would really (and I do mean this) really appreciate if you could downplay my involvement with Hawke as much as possible. Feel free to write this as a book and write a tragedy. By all means. But the Chantry can’t know I exist.

 

Varric, I know the future. Do you know how valuable that is? To know who is going to be a major player, five, ten years down the line? I’ll never see the sky again, and that’s if they don’t just kill me outright. And here was this mage who knew. This loose end who knew so much. He has to die. So many lives could be at stake.

 

I couldn’t help but gasp, clapped my hand to my mouth and tried not to cry. “Of course I know, dearest. I know everything about you.” He reached out to me and I shook my head until he curled it back. “I have done something terrible to you, to make you fear me so. I did try to make you a mage, dearest, but your friends put a stop to that.” He flayed the skin off my bones and soaked me in lyrium brine, held me down until I drowned three times because I bet that’s a magical number here too. And he expects me to be grateful? I must have made some sort of sound that he picked up on, because he smiled at me again. “Oh come now. What is it you call yourself here? Lark, was it? It’s such a please dear one. You may call me Raven. There’s much work to be done to set this all aright, and so I must bid you a good night. I only came to make myself formally known. I’ll be in contact with you shortly dearest.” I let him kiss me on the cheek, more out of shock than anything else. He showed himself out and I could not put it from my mind.

 

I had not worn my armor in months, so focused was I on gathering information and entrenching myself so firmly into the role of Lark of the Rose. I hadn’t really left the Rose in that time, sending messengers and notes instead of really going myself. The only time I actually left the brothel was to go hunting idiots. For the love of all that is holy, I’m still using the same shit I have when I got here. Don’t get me wrong, the Rebel Queen and I have had some fantastic times. But at some point I need a new hammer. I’ve had her for what, two years now? Give or take? And don’t get me wrong, she’s a fine weapon, but I think she’s going to break soon. Honestly, I had no idea what to do since my sanctuary had been so thoroughly destroyed. It took an embarrassingly long time for me to come to the conclusion that I should do what has now become my default method for shit out of my control: I went to see Aveline. She always had the best advice.

 

I had to put a cloak on to hide my face, even as my armor made for such a startling change. None of the whores were all that amused, but I had to do something. So I sang ‘all clear’ and tried not to cry when they let it go. Going to the Guard, on the other hand, was a pain in the ass. Not that going to the Guard has anything wrong with it, but a prostitute among the guards tends to cause a bit of an issue.

 

The Guard does not like me. I tend to take their escaped criminals and murder them in the name of a prostitute’s justice. Aveline is thankfully of the impression that this is just how we do things where I come from and I’m not arguing it. Rosario Dawson, eat your heart out. It’s always a matter of waiting for someone to fetch Aveline for me. Most of Hawke’s companions have some sort of thing I can write on and with lying around, and Aveline didn’t even blink as she handed me the slate and chalk. She keeps them in her office just for me to make reports without worrying about wasting paper on simple pleasantries. Still fun to get poetic with. “Allu! What in the Maker’s name has happened to you? Start at the beginning and I’ll get something for you to eat.”

 

Ironically, most of you are under the impression that I’m too skinny. Either that or I really do look like I’m ten and need to eat constantly.

 

I started at the beginning. A very sanitized beginning that required quite a few long pauses for Aveline to decipher my increasingly frantic writing. I took out the fact that I came from another world altogether (sorry Aveline, you weren’t nearly drunk enough to attempt that one) and instead impressed upon her the fact that my home was far away. So far away that the only way to get there was to use magic (true!), and people from my home had never been able to come this far (also true!). Aveline was thus the second one to know part of my secret, and it was enough to make her stare at me with that wrinkle between her eyes that only happens when she’s trying to figure things out. It was a long story, and one of the guards helpfully brought us food and drink that tasted like ash and piss. I was nervous.

 

Aveline took a long drink before she looked at me. “So this Raven, the blood mage. He stole you from leagues upon leagues away, straight into the Blight that was nothing more than a horror story for your people. You paid off your debt to Hawke with time honored traditions of your people, and you lived with Fenris until you decided to go blood mage hunting. And now you’re a magical focus for this Raven to get to your home. He visited you last night and now you’re terrified. Is that all?” Not all of it, but close enough for government work as they say.

 

I took a deep breath and balanced the slate on my lap before letting the song of my lyrium wash over me. When I opened my eyes again, there was nothing but silence. “Yes. That is correct.” Talking is hard now, so I always have to watch my words. It makes me sound like a Tranquil at some times or in possession of a sing-song lilt at others. It’s annoying, makes me sound like some sort of vapid woman without a lick of sense. And worst of all is the echo, the little tinkle of birds chirping like little silver bells in jars. Some of the sounds, the vowels, stretch off and repeat. I don’t like talking with my lyrium shining. Sure, I get the words right, but the lyrium always wants to talk too.

 

Aveline understood, she always did. So I hid from the Coterie, for a whore will never really be their own person once they’ve established a role within those ranks. I spent the first few days retraining my martial arts, practicing the same moves over and over until my muscles screamed and my body left smears of blood on the walls. I didn’t need my lyrium for that, not until my body threatened to collapse on me. I went for days, tapping into the liquid energy of my lyrium and letting its song carry me through. Back to my roots, none of this smashing bullshit. I trained for speed, accuracy, and flexibility above all things. What good was a hit if I couldn’t make it land exactly where I wanted it to? These were the things I specialized in back before I was stolen to Thedas.

 

Bethany’s squeamishness had made me become a powerhouse fighter instead of the hand to hand specialist I was. Fuck that. So what if Aveline and the guards thought the motions I went through were some sort of dance. Which, technically in a really roundabout way katas could be a dance if done with a suitable partner. The first day I had Aveline teach me how to bind my breasts, and I borrowed one of the guards to practice with. It had been a very long time since I had done anything like this, and I was quite determined to master it. The prudishness of the guards be damned, I fought them in nothing but bindings and breeches tied tight at the calves.

 

We started with the splits. I had the guard I was borrowing sit behind me, back to back as I tied my calves with rope. Then I had Aveline pull those ropes and the guard push against my back as I folded myself flat against the floor. So I broke my ligaments and screamed like a banshee until they let go. Pain is a good thing with martial arts; it means weakness is leaving the body. Aveline let go and the guard went to fetch a healer, and I may have sobbed as I rolled my hips to brace against the floor. I would not be weak anymore. I would not be a princess that needed to be rescued like some useless idiot. The stone was nice and cold, numbed the pain even as the whispers picked back up amongst the guards I could give a shit about. It took me a moment to rise off the floor, and I absently tucked my knee to my shoulder to make sure the damn ligament was properly broken.

 

It hurt. A lot.

 

The whispers died as I dropped my leg and raised it quick as lightning to kick three times high, middle, and low. Roll off the hips and knees and bounce forward. Use the momentum to roll with the kick and up and over until right heel spins and hand slaps the floor for balance as the heel drops like an axe. I cracked the stone with my spur. And then did it again with the left leg to make sure everything was systems normal.

 

That’s what the spurs are for.

 

“Allu, is your foot stuck in our training room floor? No. Don’t answer that. Just, go outside if you intend to do that again.” I bowed, hands folded neatly just like my sensei had drilled into me. There was a hush of sorts in the room as I lifted my foot and shook it a bit to get the stone fragments off. “Where did you even learn how to do that? Trick from your home?” I stripped my gauntlets and spurs off in a clatter of metal, and I frowned. Not nearly enough control to make that safe. I know my limits.  Absently, I answered her question with that double note whistle Isabela had insisted meant ‘yes’.  And then I beckoned to the borrowed guard and whistled like an eagle on the dive.

 

And so began the fine tradition of beating the tar out of people with my bare hands and an awful lot of style. My favorite move is the modified supplex, as it involves a high speed dash and slide past an idiot to grab his or her waist, bend backwards and slam them into the ground. I do a lot of dash sliding to hit people where it hurts, hands nearly constantly slammed against the ground to let my momentum carry me through.  The more I got a hold on myself, the less likely I was to damn near fall over. Fuck all of you goddamn Thedans. Your system is retarded and I will happily dash it to pieces. I’m a mixed martial arts fighter. I steal shit from every style I think is cool. So what if none of you will recognize that kick coming from taekwondo or that one coming from Chun Li. Who cared? I just needed to be able to do it and do it hard enough to make this stupid weapon system look like child’s play. Training with the guard was nice, as it let me learn how to dodge and flow around conventional weapon styles. When the guard needed to put their armor on, I put mine on. Not that that didn’t take weeks and weeks to accomplish.

 

I went back to Fenris’ manor every night, escorted by a guard and slinking in a like a thief. Fenris and I have vastly different fighting styles, and it was both a pleasure and a pain to spar with him. He’s the one who was the practice dummy for what you call my ‘flying neck breaker legs’ or sometimes ‘the best death a man could hope for outside of a bedroom’, and I damn near broke his neck doing it. Fenris was the one who pointed out the weak spots in my defense and helped me break my corset so I could bend better. I can do back and front flips in this corset and that is amazing and terrifying. Armor is interesting to work around, and Fenris gave me a hammer when we both realized my lyrium did not let me punch through metal. Leather, yes. Metal, no. Still gross either way.

 

The Rebel Queen is gone. Aveline took it away and gave it to Fenris, who stuck it in the manor somewhere and won’t tell me where. I am now the proud wielder of the forebodingly named Oath-Breaker, a hammer Fenris honest to shit brought me back from the Deep Roads because of whatever smirk inducing reason he has that makes him not tell me shit that matters.

 

Fenris is mad at me. I’m slowly wearing off his rage by fighting every day, but he’s still mad. At least I think that’s him being mad. He’s not tried to rip my heart out yet, so we’re still friends. I think.

 

It’s actually a bit hypocritical of him. He’s mad because I went blood mage hunting by myself (Dog doesn’t count), and he’s the poster child of blood mage hunting. The one time I asked why he was so pissed off, bird symphony and all, he shuffled me off to the Hanged Man. And thus I ‘met’ Isabela and Merrill.

 

“Oh, Fenris you shouldn’t have. The Lark of the Rose? How much did that set you back?” Triple whistle stop eagle challenge two whistle stop quartet note aria. “Oh you always know what to say to make my heart flutter.” Two whistle quartet note aria whistle. Curtsey with my side skirt and grin as everyone in the room has no idea what in the name of all that is holy is going on.

 

“Princess? What’s with the whistling?”

 

“Ooh, I love this game. So at first she asked if I wanted to have a go. And then she said she’s willing to have a go.” Two whistle stop. “And now she’s agreed. So you’re a princess? Bit of a fall for a princess to come to Kirkwall.” One whistle long stop hand up with palm flat to Isabela wave palm from Isabela to myself two whistle stop.

 

“Oh fine. So. The Lark has a code she adheres to when in public. It’s quite fun for some of the things we get up to in the darker parts of the night.” Isabela is a drama queen, but she’s right. My lyrium soaked voice was no good, and my lyrium sealed voice was even worse. So all I could really do was hum my approval and nod as I leaned over and stared at Merrill’s hand. And yes, she really did have a shitty hand, and it’s a good thing I swapped her cards out with yours. Should have watched my hands better. Thankfully, you’ve all developed this habit of playing Wicked Grace in your room and not out in the lobby, so lighting my lyrium up and smiling at Merrill wasn’t the worst thing. “Hello. It’s nice to finally make your acquaintance. How are you settling in?”

 

“Oh! You’re the one who sends me all those letters! I didn’t know… oh, you’re like Anders!” Technically a spirit is an entity that dwells within the Fade so since I come from beyond the Fade she might actually be half right. I’m not possessing this body like Justice, I was born with it thank you. If anything my lyrium is possessing me. Not that I mind, it seems to like all the bird bits. I feel that could end poorly actually.

 

“Not quite Daisy. She’s about as much of a spirit as Broody over here is. Unfortunate case of lyrium and blood magic.” It’s been a little over a year and this is the best you’ve got? Really? I whistled twice and nodded even as I stole the bench corner next to Merrill. Hawke tried not to laugh as I made Merrill squeak. Did you know she fidgets when she’s nervous? It’s adorable. “Oh, Alaudidae has been most helpful in making sure I’m well supplied. She sends me all sorts of things.”

 

“But what brings the Lark out of the Rose. And with Fenris no less.” Isabela gathered up the cards, not because she was going to cut me in, but because she knows I cheat all too much. I’m shitty at cards. Always.

 

“Fenris wore me out. Now I’m sleepy and sore in places that should not be sore.” It takes a bit for those not experienced in the echoing ring to decipher my words, and Fenris is half a minute faster at it out of sheer experience. I tried to bury my head into Merrill’s lap to keep from laughing too hard, and would have succeeded if not for her squeaking and Fenris’ looming grumpiness. Ever laughed so hard you fell off a bench? It’s not pleasant, but it always tends to make you laugh harder. I couldn’t help it. It was like none of you had ever heard me crack a joke. In hind sight, I realize that was the first joke you’ve ever heard me make at Fenris’ expense.

 

“Get out from under the table so I can wring your neck.”

 

I couldn’t help but laugh, lyrium stuttering and making my laugh sound like a tinkle of bells and birds. I had to cut my lyrium off at that point, and I just kept whistling once over and over. Making my lyrium glow is always an exercise in delicious pain, sadomasochism at its finest, but its fun for me. Or it usually is, when I’m not laughing so hard my sides are threatening to split. Merrill slid under the table with me out of self-defense as Anders and Fenris started arguing while Isabela and you took notes. I am not ashamed to say I cuddled with her when I wasn’t stealing drinks from the table. Or at least I was stealing them before Marian just started handing them down.

 

Yes, fine. I hum when I’m drunk. I also get super cuddly. After a few pints, I was damn near plastered against Merrill, letting her back against the bench hold us both up. She was passing out right the hell with me, it was totally fine. Merrill smelled like the wild, woods and dirt that were just a touch wrong. It was alien enough to be unsettling. For fuck’s sake Varric, the damn trees and motherfucking dirt smell weird to me and that should have been a hint. You’re a dwarf. Dirt and trees smell like dirt and trees. They may smell _different_ but they don’t smell like they’re from _some other plane of existence_. Go figure, I ended up falling asleep on Merrill and I honestly don’t remember it. What I do remember was you waking me up and drunkenly shoving me at Fenris to go home.

 

I didn’t quite make it. Obviously. Super proud of you for noticing, really.

 

The fact that I did not make it home was no fault of Fenris’, so please don’t blame him. He was distracted and I was tired, so it was really my fault for not fighting back like I should have. I mean, I had the hammer, but didn’t actually use it.

 

Raven came for me, and this time he brought friends. And by friends I mean he had people stalk me around Kirkwall until the most opportune moment and then three of them knocked me out and carried me off while the rest of them attempted to deal with Fenris.

 

I am reasonably sure they’re all dead.

 

I mean, it’s Fenris. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but he’s really good at killing people. Even better when they’re wearing Tevinter Imperium uniforms.

 

So no, I did not make it back home that night. Or what I assume was the next night. I’m detecting a pattern with this ‘relationship’ of sorts with Raven. For starters, it’s creepy. I end up naked the vast majority of the time. This time I actually got to keep all the bits of my clothes that were essential, and then he replaced the rest at the direction of some witchy womenfolk. I was not aware there could be female Magisters, or that they had so much poof in their clothes. Gotta say, I kind of dig this fashion sense of theirs. Not so much the predilection for thin cloth layers in this freezing cold cave, but the aesthetics cannot be denied. Also, what is with the caves? For someone who calls himself after a bird, he really likes having his blood cults based out of caves with creepy décor.

 

When I say décor, I mean ever increasing piles of dead bodies. Yeah. This is the best place.

 

Apparently the blood and lyrium soaking portion of the plan is done, so that’s nice. Instead there are a lot of grandiose speeches and creepy plots of madness. And here’s me only in my stockings, oh dear. Cheery this is. He promised the mercenary types a wealth incalculable and the mage types a power immeasurable if they would follow him like the Magisters of yore. I recognized some of the faces from the Hanged Man and the Rose. Not my clientele, as most of them seemed to be a little too broke for that.

 

You would think Tevinters would have learned the consequences of fucking with the Fade the last time. Because yes, they really did start the Blight in Thedas. You can quote me on that. To the Chantry even. Stop fucking about with the Fade. The Maker made it for a reason. You stay on your side, we stay on ours, and no one ends up dead.

 

Raven called me the lynchpin to power. I’m not. Honestly I don’t want anything to do with this nutter. But he’s the one with the plan on how to rip open the Fade and this I have got to see. Otherwise?

 

Fasta vass, venhedis, Fen’harel take them, damn them straight to the Void, and may all their genitalia shrivel up and rot off mid fuck. Take your pick.

 

He wants to conquer my home. That doesn’t actually worry me. We don’t have magic where I come from, so exactly what could he do? Stand still and bleed on things while our military shot him full of holes? You know how the creator of Bianca was so worried about his creations being used for war? Yeah, we have things that make Bianca look like she’s taking a piss in the ocean for all the good she’ll do. This mage will die if we shot him. Which would happen. He wants me to think of home to make the spell focus in on the safest place to land. I’m almost obligated to think of one of the man military bases I had ever grown up on. Why yes Varric, I’m the spawn of a high ranking military official, not a princess. Non-commissioned officer no less. Explains a lot doesn’t it? I’m not even the pretty one, as that’s my older sister. I laugh at the idea of an abomination against a platoon of my world’s military. A rage demon against an air strike. Nightmare against a carpet bombing. Ah, getting ahead of myself by a bit there. Point is, it would be hilariously bad news for the magic using side.

 

I won’t tell you what the intricate details of Raven’s plan entail. What I can tell you is that even if none of you do the hero thing and come to get me, I will put a bullet in his brain pain my damn self and kick his corpse on the way to prison. Well, probably a hospital to get this lyrium out first and then possibly a mental institution. It’s been about a week since I last saw all of you, and I miss you terribly. This will be my last letter to you, the end of my story. When all the dust settles, come hell or high water, I’m either going to be dead or where I belong.

 

So, last wishes. I’m allowed them. I’m dying after all.

 

Varric- Be nice to the Kid. Poor lamb is lost and confused and everything will make it worse. Also, your brother is an unmitigated bastard and I hope you didn’t take that red shit home. If you did, well. Her name is Meredith and you will see shortly why it was a shitty plan. I recommend killing it with fire. No, you still can’t have my napalm recipe. Because adding citronella to a pinch of cornstarch and a cup of powdered sugar until it forms a paste shouldn’t be hard to understand. You’re welcome, and you best pass that on to the Inquisitor or I’m going to be pissed. Bees in a jar my ass.

 

Merrill- Pick one. It’s the knife or your clan. You can’t have both. Also, the mirror is a shitty plan. The pathways have been corrupted by the Blight. And that means the Fade.  You’re a smart lady, figure something out. Also, if you need to get out of the Alienage in a hurry go and see Leandra. She has my emergency money. Someone should use it.

 

Anders- You are a fucking moron and I hope they make you Tranquil for your stupid plan. Yes, I know your stupid plan. It is stupid. And that plan is going to throw the entire system out of whack. So. Hope someone makes you Tranquil. If not Tranquil, I hope someone takes a nail and lobotomizes your ass. That being said…. You’re right. The Mages can’t stand this for much longer, and the Templars are going out of control. Plan shit better dumbass, or you’re taking the fall for it. Unwrap the ribbon on that staff I got you, there’s a formula under there I think might help a bit better. And if you take the fall, you’re dragging Hawke right down with you. So. If I get stuck here. Which is a slim as shit chance, so don’t hope for it. I’ll throw my lot in with you. No holds barred, no questions ask, point me and I will be chaos upon thine enemies. Nothing is true and everything is permitted. Besides, I work better in the shadows to serve the light. Ha, what the fuck ever. Sure, I’ll be the hashshashin to your Templar problem. This is a joke I’ve been waiting years to make and none of you will ever get it. Fuck it. If I get stuck here there will be blood in the streets.

 

Marian- Go fuck ‘em up. Thanks for being here. It’s been a pleasure serving you, meine Meister. And… thanks for being such a good big sister. Look out for Bethany. And screen your mother’s suitors. All of them. White lilies are bad. Fuck it. Enough of the bullshit. Your mother is going to die as a corrupted zombie to try and bring back a nutcase’s dead lady friend if you can’t find and catch the white-lily killer. Don’t let her leave the fucking manor until his ass is dead. Take Varric with you, he’s got sense. Bethany is alive. You’re welcome. Also, in case you haven’t figured it out, I dosed her up with sleeping meds to keep her out of the Deep Roads. Why? Because she was going to die in there. So. You’re welcome.

 

Bethany- Better the Circle than your death. You’re out of it anyway. And no worries, give Anders a moment and he’ll fix that. So, take the time to enjoy the nice resources you have as a Circle mage. Ignore the Templars. If you start a fight over how they treat you, no one can save you. I know, Kirkwall’s Circle is a shithole. The entirety of Kirkwall is a shithole. Also, you need to develop a better sense of paranoia. Seriously, no grown woman should be that easy to drug. For your own safety, learn to never leave your beverage unattended and always watch the barkeep pour it. Bring your own damn cup if you have to. Honestly.

 

Aveline- Marry him. I expect at least one child to have a healthy respect for the art of punching people in the face. Don’t dance around it, marry him. Your children will be prodigiously amazing. He would have wanted you to be happy, and this is not happy Aveline. Don’t rely on Varric to tell you how to make it happen. You’re a bad ass woman who gives my mother a lesson in not taking shit. You can do this. Just ask him!!

 

Sebastian- Hi? I’m not entirely sure what to tell you. Well, no. Let’s get the religious tizzy out of the way. The throne of the gods is in fact empty. The Maker has in fact abandoned you. No worries, he abandoned us too, and we’re on the other damn side. That being said, he did manage to leave some pretty good instructions. Both sides are pretty well lined up in interpretation, so I’ll share from our side. Might make the coming tragedy a bit easier. Feel free to write to the Inquisitor, as I’m sure their staff will appreciate some help from the other side of the pond so to speak.

The Eleven Rules

1\. Do not give opinions or advice unless you are asked.

2\. Do not tell your troubles to others unless you are sure they want to hear them.

3\. When in another’s lair, show him respect or else do not go there.

4\. If a guest in your lair annoys you, treat him cruelly and without mercy.

5\. Do not make sexual advances unless you are given the mating signal.

6\. Do not take that which does not belong to you unless it is a burden to the other person and he cries out to be relieved.

7\. Acknowledge the power of magic if you have employed it successfully to obtain your desires. If you deny the power of magic after having called upon it with success, you will lose all you have obtained.

8\. Do not complain about anything to which you need not subject yourself.

9\. Do not harm young children.

10\. Do not kill non-human animals unless you are attacked or for your food.

11\. When walking in open territory, bother no one. If someone bothers you, ask him to stop. If he does not stop, destroy him.

You’re welcome. Our side is a bit easier than the Chant. Granted, I’m simplifying by a bunch, but still holds true. You may want to pay attention to rule seven. We’re not… big on ruling magic. Be polite and respectful at all times, and you won’t have such a shit time.

 

Tallis- I got nothing. You’ll get your name back. Deep breath, focus, and stab the shit out of the problem.

 

Gamlen- Go die in a fire you skeevy old bastard. Also, _no more freebies from the Rose._ It might help your life it you just admitted you missed your daughter and that you had a gambling problem. Just sayin’. Not holding your head above the privy anymore. Go get sober.

 

Leandra- Hi Mom Number Two! Also known as Best Mom Who Does Not Make Me Fear For My Life. Seriously, I will keep you alive if it is the last thing I do. White. Lilies. Are. Bad. You will die. Feel free to date, lord knows all ladies should get their groove on freely. Just be careful.  Love you!

 

Dog- You are henceforth now named Siegfried. It means victory and peace. Sorry Lieutenant, sir, I’m discharging myself from service, sir!

 

Isabela- Thank you for giving me a voice back. You may now proceed to rob my room at the Rose blind. There’s a nice antique dagger I think you’ll be partial to. Now, _stay the fuck away from the damn Qunari_. Do you think you’re immortal? You have to. Stop it. You’re not a special snowflake. You’re the same decaying organic matter as everyone else. The Qunari will kill you if you keep this up.

 

VARRIC TEAR THIS PART OFF THE PAGE AND DON’T YOU DARE GO PAST THIS POINT. IT’S EMBARRASSING.

I’m only doing it because I’m pretty sure I’m gonna die. And what the hell is the point of dying if I’m going to have regrets.

Doesn’t make it less embarrassing if you read it out to the entire Wicked Grace bunch. Ye, I gave you lot a name. You’re welcome.

 

 

Fenris-

Hello! This is… incredibly awkward. So, I’m just going to do this like ripping off a bandage.

I’m in love with you. Not like I was in love with you before I got here, that was just a gross amount of nerdy loneliness and appreciation for the wrong things. Like honestly and truly in love with you.

Like, I would marry you and settle down to have children kind of love. Which is kind of a big deal? I mean, I’m pretty sure I’m tied with Serendipity for the title of ‘Whore of Kirkwall’. By definition, we don’t stay with singular people.

It’s going to take a while to gather up enough power for the ritual, since we’re going to have to be so careful about it. I’ve had like, a week of laying around doing next to nothing but writing.

Which, by the way. The murder crow’s name is Francis. Be nice to Francis. Francis is now yours. Sort of. Kind of bartered a few bits of information to Sister Nightingale for him a while back. Lark is legitimately my codename. Legit. Well. Now it’s yours. Congratulations, you’re now part of the Chantry information network? You should keep Francis. Francis is going to be really useful down the line, so long as you don’t piss Sister Nightingale off.

I’m rambling.

So. You now have a reason to be mad at me. Here it is, me, waving the white flag.

I can’t do this anymore. Everywhere I go I keep seeing things you’ve done, things you’re going to do, traces of you all over Kirkwall that just make me love you all over again. You’re so brave, and I’m really not. I’m anything but brave. I just… you deserve better. I can’t tell your heart who it should and shouldn’t love, but at the least I can take myself out of the equation. That way you have one less thing to be mad about. Which, I have this feeling you’re going to think I’m making the assumption that you aren’t strong enough to protect me from shit.

Yeah no. Take that and shove it right back where it came from. You’re plenty strong, and one of these days you’re going to fuck up Danarius’ world and I’m going to laugh and fucking laugh as I watch that shit on repeat. You’re not the problem, I am. Oh fuck me I sound like a cliché. Look, I’m what, a twenty six year old human female from the other side of the Fade. You’re a… I have no idea how old you are actually and I don’t think it matters for this, but you’re an elf from Thedas. This is a bit like a fish and a bird falling in love. There may be all the love in the world, but where would they live? In a broke ass manor where the ceiling is falling out?

I can’t take you home with me. Someone would try to cut you to pieces in the name of scientific progress. I can’t stay here either. I’m going mad piece by piece the longer I’m here. I don’t… I don’t fit in the story, so no matter how much I want to orbit around, it’s just not possible. There’s so much I don’t understand about all of this. I mean, I love you. But I had a life before I was stolen away. Isn’t it… isn’t it an adult’s responsibility to see something through until the end? No matter what the price? I can’t even tell you to your face that I’m in love with you because I’m an idiot who can’t talk to other people.

I’m going to die. Oh my god in hell I am going to die. ~~fuck fuck fuck fuck~~

And I just realized I’m an asshole who just threw a bunch of complex statements at someone who’s just getting the hang of shit.

FENRIS START HERE

DO THE REST LATER

Hi. I love you. I’ll miss you.

I’m going to love you for the rest of my life.

Whatever you choose, choose happiness.

Love you!

Lis

 

 

Hawke

On behalf of the Tevinter Altus Crius of House de Vesci, allow to extend my warmest regards. We thank you for caring for our wayward charge, and for delivering her safely into her our care. We will be sure to extend your wish for our master as he completes the ceremony to bind his new Cygnus Marita. We’ll be sure to pass along your warm caring for the property of others to Magister Danarius.

Regards,

Raven


End file.
